Event Horizon: Defiance
by setivalen
Summary: AU, beginning with "missing year" on New Caprica. Different leadership is in place on Galactica and Pegasus as the invasion/occupation is about to begin. Multi-arc story, covering occupation through to discovery of Earth and final conflict with Cylons.
1. Ch 1: The Heart Never Fits Its Wanting

Event Horizon: Defiance

**Author's Notes: **I don't own any of these characters, but I'm honored to be able to borrow them for play—no profit of money is being made whatsoever, only profits of the soul in writing for a while.

Story is AU from the time shortly after the Groundbreaking Ceremony on New Caprica. Rating is M for mature themes (violence in different forms) and some sexual content (more description provided in certain chapters, when essential to convey a character's state of mind or his/her personal growth/regression). The story is large in scope; I've roughed out all of it, and have 40 percent of it written, so I hope you'll stick around for the later major developments!

The tale has a significant action-driven main plot involving nearly the full cast, with several romantic sub-plots. Although we begin with the Adama/Roslin dynamic, the Lee/Kara relationship is the central focus; it underpins the plot developments throughout. Our core characters are not big talkers, so I've taken some license with longer dialogue. More importantly, I've provided internal narrative—these individuals may not say much, but they are thinking constantly, and I wanted to reveal more of their inner workings, as I've imagined them.

I hope you enjoy. Nicole

**Chapter 1: The Heart Never Fits Its Wanting**

"_Event Horizon: a theoretical boundary around a black hole beyond which no light or other radiation can escape. Figuratively: any point of no return." _Oxford English Dictionary

" '_Our humanity got us into this. Our humanity will have to get us out of it.' " _John Sheridan's character, Babylon 5

**Sit Rep: New Caprica and Galactica, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony**

"So, how's the weather?" Bill asked humorously, knowing there had been several days of freezing rain planet-side.

"Let's just say it reminds me of a trip I took once to New Libra city on Scorpia—inhospitable, frigid, and damned dull." Roslin laughed a little darkly at the memory—it wasn't so far from the truth of their existence on this world at the moment. She knew Adama was tossing his dry humor at her in asking the question; it was one of the reasons she looked forward to their weekly chats.

"And, how's the weather up there?" Bill could feel the smirk through the line.

"Well, actually, about the same as your description—especially the 'dull' part. Present conversation excluded, of course." He tried to sound light as he said it, but an oppressive sigh escaped his throat instead.

"Admiral, that was a lot of air you just exhaled—are you smoking Starbuck's old cigars?" Laura knew she needed to keep the banter going; the reality of current situations was too painful to talk about straight-on, and they both knew it. Besides, she had something she really wanted to ask the man, and her nervousness might not be so evident if she could maintain the mirthful tone.

"How is she, Laura?" Starbuck had been planet-side for 10 months now, and he would give anything to ask her to "bring in the cat."

"She's good, Bill—really. Kara's been helping Galen in building some of the equipment we need, and she checks the grounded ships, making sure the nuts and bolts are still holding them together. She and Sam play pyramid quite a bit to keep in shape."

"Sounds about right—what does Sam do when he isn't trying to keep his wife out of trouble?"

Laura winced. She hadn't given anything away—how did he see through it? "Well, I don't think Sam sees it as trouble, you know—he pledged to take the whole package when he married her."

Bill pressed Roslin anyway; he'd heard some things…things that troubled him. "I recognize when you're dissembling, Laura—you realize that, right?"

She chuckled—it was always there, that sense of _knowing_ her—easy and confident, as though he was sure he wouldn't make mistakes when it came to reading Laura.

"Yes, I realize. I don't know what you want to hear Bill…what are you looking to confirm?" She read him equally well.

"I…Helo said he talked to her when he took Ellen Tigh planet-side last week, and she seemed tense, restless. Some of the old Galactica crew told him they were worried because Starbuck got drunk every night, without fail now, and she started fights on a pretty regular basis."

"Bill, I'm not sure that's too different from her activities before she ever came here. What's really on your mind?"

"I miss her, Roslin." Adama said in a hushed voice, as though Kara might hear him. "I worry she's not happy, and I wanted to know she—I wanted her to finally have that."

"My sweet man," Laura started—she dared to be that intimate with him these days, at least over the com—"no one can guarantee that for Kara Thrace except Kara Thrace. She's not exactly the kind to confide in others, and she won't acknowledge what eats away at her, except to a glass of straight 150 proof liquor. Sam, Helo, Tyrol—they all do what they can, but…"

"Yeah. Has he talked to her at all?" Bill didn't have to say who; Roslin was on the same page.

"No…no. She would have told Helo if—I would have seen a clue, a shift of something." It was disconcerting, even after so many months, to realize Apollo and Starbuck had broken ties so completely. It was hard to say what about that severing caused so many others to feel off-balance, but she knew it was true. The schism between the two pilots had rippled throughout the former Galactica crew members now on New Caprica, setting superstitious nerves on edge; some whispered it augured dark events would plague the colonists on the planet. Roslin wasn't one to attribute broader meanings from the gods regarding a relationship that was volatile years before the second Cylon War. Still, she acknowledged it was troubling, if only for the larger impact on everyone else.

Bill's voice penetrated her digressive thoughts. "Laura—I—it goes without saying I miss you too." He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say that out loud, but her silence worried him that he had been remiss in making the point clear.

"Me too, Bill. Me too. Which is why—" she paused. It was time to just put the idea out there. "—why I wanted to extend a special invitation, from the 'Lead Teacher' of New Caprica, decision-maker of paints and reading, for you to come visit." The sentence hung there between them, as though it were coming over the wire letter by letter.

More exhaling whooshed in her ear. She could tell he wasn't sure what to do—which at least meant he was tempted by the suggestion. Maybe he needed a hint of more—what she might really offer him if he came to see her. "You could stay with me, Bill, avoid the others if you didn't want to answer questions or re-live war stories. There's a clearing about 2 clicks from here—"

"Clicks? When did you learn to use that term?" He was amused, hearing the former President use military words. He knew it was a gesture of respect Laura was making, but it sounded incongruous with her throaty voice.

"That's hardly the point, Admiral—don't answer a question with a question, especially a non-sequitur." There was a lilt in her expression, and anxiousness.

"Go on—what about the clearing?"

"You could land there, without drawing much attention, around dusk. No one would realize you were here, and we could—"

"We could—"

"We could spend some real time together. Alone. No titles, no crises, no prying eyes." She was getting bolder by the word.

Bill was uncomfortable. He knew exactly what was being intimated, and he found it damned unnerving. It was so—so on target for what he longed for, even ached for at times. Their desires were now out there—palpable. It wasn't possible to refuse now…he couldn't bring himself to do that. Frak duty and dulling responsibility and the sameness of every godsdamned day since they'd all left the ship—since she left his ship.

"I'll be there. Nineteen hundred hours at the latest. Can you send coordinates for the clearing? I'm not sure '2 clicks from Laura's tent' will be enough of a description…"

"Yes, of course, of course! I—it will be wonderful, Bill."

"With you, it's always wonderful." It was one of the most sentimental and romantic things he'd said to her in all this time; he was going to have trouble keeping his emotions tamped down. The realization made his hands clammy—it was time to end the call before something else was uttered, unbidden. "See you soon, Roslin."

"I'll be the teacher with the apple in her hand when you arrive," she said mischievously. "Good night, dear man."

"Good night—stay warm." He hung up the com. It didn't seem wise to try to wake up Tigh at this hour, given he was probably drunk enough to still be inebriated a good 12 hours from now—Saul was at loose ends while Ellen was gone. It would be better to call Lee to make arrangements for the trip and for coverage during Adama's absence.

Bill felt uneasy every time he thought about going down to the planet. The fear, however irrational, was the Cylons would appear when he was on the surface, and he'd be powerless to help the settlers. Adama steadfastly refused to leave the ship for that reason, despite the loneliness and his nightly fantasies about a certain alluring redhead. The dead weight sitting in the pit of his stomach, though, was pulling him into the metal of the bulkheads—he felt cold, flat, haunted—old. It was like staring at an event horizon—you knew you needed to break away, a safe distance out, but the sight of the mesmerizing blackness drew you closer, like the ancient tales of sirens at sea.

He rang Lee's quarters on the Pegasus. A sleepy female voice answered; it was Dee. "Dualla here…go ahead."

"My apologies for waking you up, Lieutenant. May I speak with the Commander?" Some rustling and whispering could be heard before Lee took the handset.

"Yeah?" Apollo had become quite lax in the past eight months, foregoing most military formalities. It really irritated the Admiral, but he'd tried to restrain his criticisms, since the monotonous patterns of their days circling the planet had put many into an oppressive state of apathy and disarray.

"I've decided to go to New Caprica for a few days." It seemed easier to explain nothing; the fact Bill was making the trip already revealed messages.

"Oh?" Lee was awake now. His father was calling during off-shift hours to announce a visit to the planet—something important was altering. "I'm sure there's a raptor making a doughnut run in the next two or three days—"

"I plan on leaving at 1700 hours tomorrow, and I wanted to go over a few tactical issues with you before then. I also need to know which pilot's free to give me a ride."

"Can't we do this a bit later? I would like to get a few more hours sleep, Sir." Lee was agitated; it was ridiculous, being awakened at this hour to talk about a plan many hours from now.

"I'm sure you can take a nap afterward, Commander—it wouldn't be different than any other day." That biting tongue, still baiting his older son to defend himself and be a better man. Gods, how Lee hated it.

"Are you ordering me to have this discussion now? It seems like a waste of good command talent, _Sir_." He was angry and petulant. Same old Lee. Bill suddenly wanted to escape—now—run from the dreariness and Lee's incessant whining. He balled his fists, hoping the tension in his arms would take away some of the tension from his voice.

"Be here at 1500 hours. That is an order, if I need to be explicit about it. Arrange for Sharon Agathon to fly me out. Bump up the supply rotation, so the flight isn't wasted. Prepare to review the security coverage protocols for commanding two battlestars when the higher-level officer is off-ship and an enemy attack is probable." The phrases came out staccato, like alternating piston sounds. Lee loudly made a scoffing noise; Bill could picture the sneer on the man's face as he listened to the list.

"Understood. Commander Adama out." The anger pulsed down the wire, punctuated by the slamming of the receiver. The Admiral shivered. He'd lost his son, somehow in all this stultifying repetition, and he wasn't even very motivated to try to bring him back. What was the point? It took more energy than either cared to expend, and the relationship just went in big circles, going nowhere. Quite like orbiting an uninviting planet, really. Gods, Bill thought darkly, he was going to have to find more imagination from somewhere—even his analogies were lifeless and stale.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Galactica, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony**

Commander Lee Adama stood on the flight deck, inspecting the raptor. The briefing with his father had been terse. It had ended with the admonishment Lee was to remain on duty for two shifts each planet day while the Admiral was gone, keeping watch for enemy contact. Under no circumstance was he to make any FTL jumps during this period—Lee's responsibility was to protect the fleet, both planet-side and in space. The Pegasus commanding officer could taste the ferrous trickle as it slid down his throat, blood drawn from biting his tongue so hard.

He had been opposed to this sordid military farce, orbiting a worthless planet for "protection" while 10,000 sane people remained frozen in time, unable to continue the search for Earth. Frak them all, the settlers, traitors to the fleet family. All those former crew members from Galactica and Pegasus, abandoning their sworn responsibilities for a tepid illusion—it was maddening. Tens of thousands of humans shuddering in tents that barely kept out the hard elements, all for the "opportunity" to breath fresh air. Two humans using their own body heat to keep out the cold…keep him out in the cold. Lee caught himself—what a frakked up thought.

He laughed aloud, defiantly mocking his piteous character. Uncontrollable memories pressed forward…the feel of her long, soft hair on his chest, the expression crossing her face as she climaxed above him, her nervous giggles as she shouted out her love for Lee Adama. Tears pooled, sliding down his cheeks, coming unexpectedly and without welcome. He hated New Caprica. It was a black hole, sucking everything into the well of gravity, including his soul. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to stop it. Now he walked around as a biological shell—no hope, no purpose, no energy. Sometimes he thought he'd take his own life, to erase the futility around him. Ironically—and he forced another harsh laugh at the realization—he lacked the drive to just do it. Instead, he drew on anger, every minute of every day, to keep him motivated to get out of bed, lead the minimal Pegasus crew, interact with his wife. Anger was a great fuel—it burned for a long time, could be amped up or ramped down in a flash, and it blotted out everything in its path. He was actually on the inside of the event horizon now, looking out, eager to suck the light out of everything in front of him.

The Admiral walked up to Lee, breaking his focus. His father was wearing civilian clothes—it was so odd. Lee could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen William Adama out of uniform.

"The raptor's fueled, loaded up with supplies, and ready for departure." Lee didn't look his father in the eye, preferring to talk slightly past the right of his head. His father acted as though he didn't notice.

"Where is Lieutenant Sharon Agathon?"

Flinching slightly at the phrase—it was hard to believe the Old Man actually reinstated the Cylon into the military—Lee found a splattered paint spot on the floor to examine. "She'll be here momentarily."

"I'll get settled in, then. See you in three days." The man didn't try to look in his son's eyes, and his voice belied no warmth. He was so damned sick of this Lee, the one who'd overtaken the body of the person Bill was proud to know and loved. It was too much. Maybe he'd try to talk with Kara over the next day or so; the Admiral was certain she had answers to explain Lee's changed nature. He was less certain he wanted to hear the details, but something had to be done. If Kara would be willing to see Apollo, talk to him…

Sharon stepped into the cockpit. "Good Morning, Sir." She smiled briefly. "Ready to go?"

The Admiral nodded, a small grin in return. "Appreciate the ride, Lieutenant." The raptor hatch eased shut and the launch was initiated.

Lee walked away as the hatch came down. He was particularly ill-at-ease; it was probably the discussion over worst-case scenarios with his father that caused the roiling in his stomach. In a compartment deep in his psyche, though, Lee knew there was more to his feelings. It was the mere thought of someone talking to Kara, seeing her—seeing _them_ together. His blood surged every time he pictured Sam—arms around her shoulders or sweeping her backwards into a passionate kiss. He trembled with dark emotion, wishing he could somehow wipe out all memories of those two. He wished even more fervently he might erase all memories of "Starbuck and Apollo," Kara and Lee. It was then the Commander realized he was starving; the food would quiet his stomach and calm his nerves. He headed straight for the mess.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Admiral sat silent in the raptor as it traveled, watching the interplays of light before him—distant stars, nearby sun, curvature of a brightly colored world coming into full view. He didn't feel like talking. Bill wasn't sure how to prepare himself for the next few days, but he looked forward to putting his feet on solid ground. He allowed himself to enjoy the pleasurable tingle of anticipation as well—he longed to feel Laura against his chest, burying his nose in the sweet smell of her soft hair. With a start, Adama realized Sharon was talking to him—he didn't know for how long.

"Ummm, I'm sorry, I was lost in my train of thought—what were you saying?"

Sharon turned to him, a twinkle in her eyes. "I was asking for permission to ask you a personal question."

"By all means, Lieutenant."

"I may be overstepping my bounds—"

"Spit it out, Sharon." The Admiral was slightly annoyed; if she wasn't going to leave him to his private musings, she'd better jump in with both feet for the discussion.

"It's Commander Adama….I—quite a few of us are worried about him. I was hoping you—"

"Sharon, I'm not much help. He and I aren't exactly spending quality time together."

"Lee's lost, Sir. It seemed, when he took command of the Pegasus and married Dee, that he'd found his footing. Now, I'm not sure that's what happened at all, and…no one knows how to reach him. His appearance, his cynicism, the complaining—it's negatively impacting his leadership. And his marriage." Sharon looked over at Bill, gauging his reaction as she finished the statement. He met her gaze, regret flickering in his eyes.

"I suspected it was." Yet another sigh—gods, he was doing that entirely too often these days. "Honestly, I don't understand him. An awful confession, to be sure, but…he's just…I never expected Lee to change this way. He's let everything go."

"Actually, Sir, it may be that he's let nothing go."

"Explain?" Bill was surprised at this idea; it didn't fit with his observations.

"Something happened, something specific—I'm not sure what or how, but it had to do with Starbuck."

"I've considered that, Sharon—I was thinking about trying to talk to her about it on this visit. But how does that translate into 'letting nothing go?' "

"I'm speculating…I think he's angry and hurt. He's trying to numb the pain however he can, and it isn't working. He can't let go of the source of the resentment and repair the emotional wounds."

"Kara had been his best friend, but he's married now, and Dee should…they should…I guess I don't see how Kara could have something do with his current emotional disarray."

Sharon marveled the older man could be so obtuse. She decided it was better not to intimate too much, since he must not be ready to face the dynamics of Kara and Lee. Still, if Adama could get Starbuck to talk with his son, it could make all the difference.

"I don't know if she's the root cause or not, Sir. I believe she could help him get past whatever's eating at him, though."

"I'm not nearly that certain, Lieutenant—according to Helo, Starbuck's pretty untethered right now too." Surely Sharon and Karl had discussed these things—

"Yeah, he shared his observations with me. I guess that's why I think they're both—well, whatever is upsetting them, it may be linked. If the two could hash it out…"

Bill just gestured his head in agreement. He was beginning to perceive something deeper in this situation. "I'll get Kara alone while I'm on the planet. She's not easily convinced to tackle personal situations head-on, but I'll see if I can make something happen."

Sharon smiled with relief. She couldn't tell the elder Adama how important his son was in the scheme of larger events—it was a guarded secret among the Cylons, the knowledge of Lee Adama's assigned archetype in the scriptures, and the humans had yet to discern his identity embedded in the sections of the sacred _Pythia_ text. His friends and family had to keep the younger Adama on his feet, though, to be ready for what was coming. "Thanks for hearing me out, Admiral."

He took the woman's hand, squeezing it briefly. "Any time. It was equally enlightening for me."

Sharon looked at her control panel and realized they were over the coordinates for the clearing. With minimal movement, the raptor landed, sitting behind a large cluster of brush. No one would easily spot the craft from the air or the ground. Adama would have his privacy, at least as much as could be expected. Tomorrow, Galen would have to bring a few people to help unload the supplies; Bill would stay in Laura's tent, and Sharon in Tory's, to keep sightings and questions to a minimum.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony**

A half-hour later, with the sun now below the horizon and the cooler air of night blowing around their ears, Sharon and Bill arrived at Laura's tent. They could hear her lightly humming, but no other voices, so they quickly stepped in through the flaps. "Laura…" Bill said, hoping not to startle her too much.

Roslin turned around, a warm smile overtaking her features. She offered her hand to Sharon first, gently squeezing Sharon's arm for welcome. Laura turned to Adama; they were both keenly aware they had an audience, so she offered her hand to him as well. He grasped it in both of his own, before leaning forward to kiss her cheek. It was subtle and natural, but she still felt the blood rise to her face as the warmth of his breath touched her.

Taking in the "room," Bill noticed a bed pallet held up by crates; a small hot plate and pails of water to one side; a table with four chairs; and a makeshift writing desk near the foot of the bed. He cringed, inwardly, thinking of her living this way—of any of them living this way. He had a difficult time reconciling the trade-off: fresh air and dirt under one's feet in exchange for solid rooms with four walls, warmth, hygienic facilities, working equipment, and running water. Deep space might feel like a prison, at times, but now these people were in living conditions no better than a prison.

"Bill and Sharon, I hope you'll join me for a meal—I've got a few things from our garden that might taste really good to you after processed food for so long!" She seemed pleased with herself—gods, she was so appealing when she radiated joyfulness, Bill thought.

"Of course, we'd love to," Bill hastily uttered, realizing he had been staring at Laura a little too long. As they took seats at the table while Laura prepared the food, Bill's thoughts wandered back to the conversation that took place a week before Roslin's full relocation to the planet eight months earlier.

"_Bill, I've been thinking about the future…" She was pacing his quarters on Galactica in stocking feet, as he watched her from the couch._

_He winced—never a good start to a conversation, those words. "Ummhumm," he murmured._

"_Someone needs to be on the planet who can gather intelligence on how things are going, how the people are coping. Baltar's administration can't be trusted to tell the truth—they'll always be painting a rosy picture, despite the very real challenges you and I know face the settlers."_

"_Isn't that what the press is for?" Bill had a queasy feeling in his gut—he didn't like where this was headed._

"_There's not much of an independent press—you know that. Baltar's already taken steps to severely curtail activities, citing the need for the equipment and 'all hands to work for New Caprica.' Plus, there's only one actual paper printing press available down there."_

"_So what are you proposing, Roslin?"_

_Silence vibrated in the room for a moment; Laura stopped pacing, instead studying the rug on the floor. She walked over to the couch finally, and with a heaving chest, blew out a long breath of air as she locked eyes with the man next to her._

"_I think I should move down to New Caprica permanently, Bill."_

_He knew his mouth dropped and his features gave away the rising anxiety sitting uncomfortably in his ribs. "Laura, don't suggest something so….there must be other reasonable options. Your plan is an extreme response to—"_

"_It's not extreme, Admiral, and I am disappointed by your reaction." Bill broke eye contact with the woman; he didn't want her to see the full impact of her words._

"_Roslin, I hardly think a school teacher's tone of voice is necessary or appropriate here. If you've already made up your mind to go—and let's call the game as it's really being played; you have already decided and probably begun the process to transfer—then I'm in no position to stand in Madame President's way." He felt his stomach drop out as he propelled the last words past his lips. Panic was starting to set in, and Bill was at a loss to understand the chaotic potion dancing through his veins, making him want to grab her in his arms and tell her under no circumstances was she ever to leave his side again._

_Soft hands cupped his face, pulling his head around to those stirring eyes of hers._

"_Bill, I know….don't think you are alone in your feelings." He must have looked shocked; she hastily added "I mean, I don't want to leave you either. That's what made this realization so hard for me to accept—"_

_On impulse, Adama gripped Laura's shoulders lightly and kissed her. He was finding this woman and losing her in the same moment, and his heart just couldn't remain quiet any longer. She responded, letting their lips explore, then giving him deeper access to her. Bill felt her hands press into his face, then slide behind his neck, as he involuntarily shivered. He pulled her flush against his chest, eagerly letting his fingers wander into her hair. Gods….Gods. This was exquisite._

_Gently he pulled his head back, slowly, leaving his arms completely around her. Looking directly, he whispered "Why now, Laura? Stay—if you want to move somewhere, move to Galactica—please stay." It was the most vulnerable William Adama had allowed himself to be in many years, and his throat tightened with emotion._

_The drop in her eyes told him everything; he abruptly let go and stood up, to quell the energy surging between them. "I see."_

"_No, I'm pretty sure you don't, yet—Bill--" Laura grabbed his arm, pulling him back towards the sofa as she stood up. _

_Roslin dared to take both of his hands in her own, then caress his cheek yet again. "I told you, before the election, I knew in my gut going to that planet would be a disaster. But it's done—it's done. I'm no longer President, and yet I feel I have to stand vigil over this fleet, that it's still my responsibility to ensure they're watched over by someone who gives a damn about them, not ruled by a sociopathic creature with a single focus on himself." Her eyes were flaring with intensity of purpose; Bill couldn't ignore the driveness that comes from surety of one's role._

"_Someone needs to find out the events behind the scenes, be a witness, chronicle the story of the last survivors of the 12 colonies on New Caprica. That person can also help, when it's time, to rally the people around the goal of finding the real Earth, not the crappy substitute you and I know this planet to be."_

"_What makes you think they'll ever rally around the idea of traveling through space again? They want to rest, Laura—the fleet is too weary to continue. I don't think that will 'wear off' once the settlers grow tired of the harsh conditions. Despite the costs, I believe the colonials will still opt for terra firma—no matter how miserable—over the unknowns of a journey of undetermined length, facing an enemy we know damned well is out there, waiting to find us."_

"_That's just it, Bill. The 'tranquility' is an illusion, carrying great cost. The Cylons never rest—they are too dissatisfied and agitated. The longer we remain, the more significant the odds we'll be caught flat-footed, lulled by a sense of sameness and routine. I want—"_

"_Roslin, that's why the battlestars remain in orbit, why I kept a crew on each ship—we will protect the fleet!" He was angry—at her suggestion the military couldn't protect them, and at her insistence she needed to leave because she didn't think the defense would be sufficient. _

"_William Adama, leave your pride out of this! I know why you have to remain up here, why the battlestars won't leave with the 10,000 colonials who don't want to settle on that rock. But we both know your ships are woefully understaffed, and it's likely to get worse as placidity takes hold of everyone, settlers and space crews alike. The ships may well not be enough, when the time comes—you can't risk nuclear attacks that might fall to the planet instead, and there'd be no way to rescue 30,000 people rapidly. We're sitting ducks out there, no matter how you shift the pieces on the board." She was pacing again as she said the last, worry clearly pushing her in the decisions she was making._

_This time, Bill pulled her to him, close and intimate. "That's exactly why you shouldn't go down to New Caprica, Laura. I can't…I can't…" he was struggling with real tears that taunted his control. "I wouldn't be able to protect you, and I refuse to risk losing you again." His voice was barely audible, but by now he was talking in her ear, gripping her body against his. _

"_Bill…" there was such longing in her voice. "Gods, I don't—" hungry lips devoured her last words, drawing the breath out of her. She relaxed into his massive chest, letting her legs bend and her arms tremble, moaning against his mouth as the feverish kisses continued. She felt his hands begin to undo her clothes, and she allowed herself to give in to all of it, gasping at the pleasure barred from them for so long._

_Much later, spent and slack in the bed, he reveled in the radiating heat from her body, the softness of her curves against his hip. She propped herself up slightly, to look into his eyes, and he knew full well what was going to be said next._

"_I have to do it, William." He felt her tears pelt his cheeks._

"_I know." He didn't want to be asked to bear this separation, but there was no denying the soundness of her reasons. _

"_Come down, as often as possible—"_

"_No." His voice rumbled as he said it, like a threatening storm. "Laura, I can't be torn like that. Every time I might come planet-side, I'd want to stay. I already miss so many of my crew, the civilians we worked with…and this—" he gestured between the two of them—"this would cinch the deal. I'm old enough to want a peaceful life, want to settle down, want to spend all my days with you. I'd be as lulled into tranquility as anyone else, and probably happier than anyone else to do so. You mean that much to me." His eyes burned preternaturally in the dimness of the room, and Laura trembled anew at the passion there. _

"_Then…well, isn't there another way to work this? Bring you to New Caprica? I know there's a role you could play—"_

"_Don't you dare suggest I abandon my post, Laura Roslin." The words stayed raspy in his throat. "This is all about how you can't leave yours—it is incongruous to recommend _

_I desert mine."_

"_You're being petulant, Bill—"_

"_And you're being dismissive, which you should know by now is the one sure way to raise my ire."_

_Laura flopped back down next to him; the sound of increased breathing filled the space. Without preamble, she felt Bill's body over her, his mouth and tongue hungry at her neck. His erection pressed against her thighs, and as his mouth avidly moved down her body, she forgot how to form thoughts altogether, surrendering to the present moment. _

"Admiral?" She was almost shouting, and Bill suddenly realized Laura had been trying to get his attention—probably for a minute or more. "Bill, are you alright? You seem a little dazed—are you lightheaded? Do you want some water?" Genuine concern marked her features, and as Adama stole a glance at Sharon, she had a similar look.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I was just reminiscing…I was lost in thought, that's all."

"Well, Sir, maybe we need to tap into your level of concentration—I'm not sure I've ever been that honed in on a memory before," Sharon said, mirth in her eyes.

"So say we all, Lieutenant." Laura was giggling.

"Alright, enough humor at my expense. Can we eat? I've definitely worked up an appetite after all that focus!" They laughed, and the dishes were passed around.

Bill had to admit, the fresh vegetables were delicious—it had been so long since he'd had real food from the ground. He didn't ask what the source of the main course was—the taste was delightful to his tongue, and that's all that mattered. Well, that, and the company…her laugh filled his heart more each time he heard it live and in person again.

The meal was nearly over when someone entered the tent. Alarm flashed across Bill's face—it was Tom Zarek, and his presence was unexpected. Adama looked at Laura, questioningly.

"Welcome, Tom. Forgive Bill—all those months in orbit have made him a little rusty in his manners."

Bill stood up stiffly, extending a hand to greet the man appropriately. Sharon got up as well, and Tom took her proffered hand.

"Welcome to New Caprica City. Don't worry—I understand this visit is on the QT. Believe me when I tell you I have no reason to share it with anyone."

Adama wasn't sure what to make of that statement. "Laura, how did Tom—"

"Bill, Tom has been helping me—us—gather information on Baltar's operations. He's the 'inside source' I've referred to in my reports."

"And why would you, as the Vice President, help with intelligence-gathering? You worked hard to ensure Baltar would win the election and settle on this planet." The voice was hard and piercing, though quiet enough—William Adama had never liked Tom Zarek, and he was trying to figure out why Roslin would trust this dubious character.

Laura interjected. "That's enough, Admiral."

"No, no, it's fine. I understand his suspiciousness—I'd feel the same, frankly, in his shoes." Tom smiled at Adama, genuine and open. "I made a mistake, Admiral. Simple as that. I'd undo the damage, if it were possible; given my options, I'm trying to make amends as I can. Gaius…well, he's frakking mad, in my humble opinion. I was caught up in my usual zeal, wanting to support the underdog, fight authority, decide the course of events for humanity, and I missed the signs. I was too focused on my own ambitions to understand the vile nature of Baltar's."

"And you want me to accept you had a 'change of heart'—just like that?" He snapped his fingers.

"You don't have to accept anything, Sir. I've earned Laura's trust, and that's enough for me at the moment. I'll continue helping her, making sure we're prepared for the inevitable Cylon return. Over time, you'll either see the value in my actions, or you won't. My mission remains the same—protect the fleet from what comes next, from Gaius' indifference, from the erosion of our rights as the President issues executive orders bordering on legitimization of slavery."

"Say that again? Roslin, your reports didn't suggest…" alarm was broadcast through Bill's voice.

"This just happened yesterday—I haven't had a chance to tell you." She kept her voice even; she knew the Admiral would be upset to learn of the latest turn of events.

"Well?"

Zarek took the lead. "Yesterday, in response to Galen Tyrol's organization last month of a labor union, Baltar issued an executive order requiring all citizens of New Caprica over the age of 16 to work 14 hours per day on construction, administrative, or infrastructure-building tasks. Failure to meet the requirement results in arrest. He'd begun building a detention center two months ago anyway—it's nearly finished."

"I knew about the detention center, but—did you realize this was Baltar's ultimate goal?"

"Suspicious again, are we Admiral? No, I didn't know about that plan. To be honest, I'm pretty sure he only dreamt it up a few hours before he announced it. The ambrosia gives him the balls he generally lacks otherwise." Tom smirked—it was without warmth, hiding gritted teeth. Adama thought he saw hatred in the man's eyes—Baltar had obviously frakked him over but good.

"Do you still have any influence over him?" Adama was curious.

"I'm not sure I ever really did…he's pretty much a one-man show. The liquor and the concubines have more of a say."

Adama sat down, disheartened. It was getting worse and worse—how could they help the settlers out of this mess?

"Tom, enough depressing talk for one evening, okay? The Admiral came here for a change of scenery and light conversation—we should offer that to him." Roslin's voice was firm.

"Of course, Laura—my apologies. I really came by to let you know the raptor's been unloaded, and I've arranged for an extra bed for Lieutenant Agathon."

It was Sharon's turn to be perplexed. "I thought I was staying with Tory."

Laura faced the woman. "I wanted to limit the knowledge of your visit to as few individuals as possible, Sharon. There are a lot of people who don't know about your reinstatement; given the current political climate, I didn't want to draw undue attention to you or the reason for your presence here planet-side."

Sharon nodded, acquiescing. She didn't trust Zarek any more than the Admiral did, but it was only for one night. The plan for a morning departure had seemed logical enough when they'd decided on it earlier; it would be noticeable to see engine burn from the clearing at this time of the evening. Helo wanted her to come back right away, but Sharon had assured him she could make it out at dawn—it wasn't that long to be apart, and she was bound to be tired.

No one believed it was a good idea for Sharon to remain on New Caprica for long; Lee had recommended, as the trip was being finalized, that Sharon return to the ship, then make a second supply run in two days to pick up the Admiral.

Tom, sensing her unease, shared "I have put up a divider, of sorts; you'll have privacy."

Grabbing her gear, Sharon stood next to Zarek, ready to trek to his tent. She was pretty sure Adama and Roslin wanted to be alone—they had been eye-frakking all evening, though she doubted they realized it was so apparent. Besides, some rack time sounded appealing right now.

"Good night, Tom." Bill shook the man's hand again. "Thank you for your efforts."

"You're most welcome, Sir. Laura—I'll stop by in another couple of days with some updates from 'the administration.' " He let the words slide sarcastically down his tongue, lest anyone mistake the phrase as a statement of respect for the current leadership.

Laura nodded at Tom and Sharon. "My sincere thanks as well—I'll see you both again soon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As all talking had ceased, Bill was suddenly aware of the stillness outside.

"Amazing, isn't it, the absence of noise? It took me a while to adjust; I was so used to the humming of the ship's engines."

"How do you know people don't overhear…conversations?" It wasn't what he was really worried about, but it sounded more casual.

"The tents are spread far enough apart to make sure sound doesn't travel quite that well. Mine is a little further away than most; I really wanted the silence, to help as I'm writing in my journals." She knew what was on his mind, and wanted to reassure him.

"So….I was hoping a big hug was in store for me now?" A big grin crossed her face as she said it.

Bill walked over and embraced her with all his strength. They clung together for some time, just soaking in the energy passing between the two of them. Finally, Laura stepped away, walking over to sit on the bed. "It's warmer here. We can talk—I'm not trying to push things—I just would like to get a bit more comfortable, and this is the only spot in the tent with any softness."

She swung her legs under the covers, still sitting up, and patted the spot next to her; Bill smoothly took off his boots and jacket, climbing in too.

Hours went by as they discussed everything—laughing, arguing, cajoling, lamenting. At some point, the emotions went into their body language instead, as they became steeped in scents, sounds and sensations of pent-up desire escaping its fetters at last.

Sated, drifting to sleep, Bill found himself saying the words he'd swallowed in his throat the day before: "I love you."

A soft squeeze of his chest made him aware he'd said the thought out loud, and she'd heard it. "Me too." He closed his eyes, more content than he remembered feeling in his adult life, and fell into a comforting blackness of dreams, carried along by the sensual brush of Laura's hair against his chin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony**

Lee was standing in the CIC, staring into space. That's what he usually did these days; there wasn't much to observe. The planet looked the same; the dradis remained quiet and blank; the chatter of the pilots on CAP, when they said anything, was unmemorable. Yeah, just another day of important command aboard the battlestar Pegasus.

Forcing himself to look around the room, Apollo watched his XO, Karl "Helo" Agathon, carry on a conversation with the CAG. Helo and Luanne "Kat" Catraine had been transferred over to Pegasus four months after the Groundbreaking Ceremony. It was his father's idea, of course; apparently, the Admiral held on to the vestiges of military protocol and didn't think it was appropriate for Anastasia Dualla to be the XO and the wife of the Commander at the same time. It was all the same to Lee, really; he didn't give a frak who was assigned to his ship, given the crew totaled less than 150 personnel now. When Apollo had taken control of the battlestar, nearly 800 people made the ship hum. Now, with close to 200 birds sitting idle between Galactica and Pegasus, and only 50 pilots to fly them, the place was eerie.

Lee felt haunted, all right—the apparitions of his past seemed to enjoy playing with him. A song wafted into his mind: "…and of all my demon spirits, I need you the most/I'm in love with your ghost." He closed his eyes, trying to prevent the image of Kara's face from floating in front of him as the lyrics tripped his memories once more. It was no use. His eyelids flew open as the hair on the back of his neck stood up; Dee was watching him again. How did she always seem to spy on his thoughts, whenever he reminisced about Kara? Then again, were there times he didn't think of Kara? He shook his head, knowing it probably looked strange; he didn't care much about that either.

A signal came through, alerting the Pegasus CIC a call was coming in from one of the communications posts on New Caprica. Dualla picked up the handset. In a moment, with a very irritated look on her face, she handed the com to Lee. "It's for you, Sir." Apollo raised an eyebrow. "The Admiral?" Dee said nothing.

"Yeah, Apollo here. Go ahead."

There was a pause, a clearing of the throat, and then that voice. Gods—it was her voice. "Hey, Lee. I needed to ask a favor."

Apollo tried to keep his face still, knowing Dee was mercilessly staring through him. "What do you want?" His tone was uglier than he expected it to be; then again, he was that person, the one who used his anger towards this woman to keep him walking around at all.

"It's Sam. He's really sick, Lee. The physician assistant here said it's pneumonia; Sam needs an antibiotic to fight it, or he might die."

Lee snorted, a sound as ugly as his voice had been a moment before. It was too rich; no wonder he didn't believe in the frakkin' gods. Surely only an existential fate could explain the irony of moments like this one.

"Starbuck, I don't authorize that. You'll need to—" a red alert sound jolted him away from the conversation. He looked at Helo.

"On the dradis. Three base stars and a swarm of raiders, coming in fast. They've found us."

Lee dropped the handset, letting it clatter against the center console. He was totally frakked. They all were. William "Husker" Adama was down on that planet, the man who wanted to be a leader and a hero. The fleet was suddenly left with Lee Adama, a man with no will to live and no desire to lead. Existential irony had just moved into the realm of the absurd.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

TBC

Lyric is from the song "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls


	2. Ch 2: And the Rocket's Red Glare

**Chapter 2: And the Rocket's Red Glare**

"_Yield not thy neck to Fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind still ride in triumph o'er all mischance." William Shakespeare_

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony, First Day of Occupation**

It was early morning. Bill was disoriented for a moment; nothing looked familiar. He realized the bed was empty and sat abruptly, scared for a second before he saw her—glorious tresses falling to her left shoulder as her right hand scribbled rapidly across the page. Laura was seated at her desk, absorbed in some written calculus, her left index finger pressed to her lips.

Unable to resist the sight, Adama moved softly into position to kiss the back of her neck. A pleasing moan escaped Laura's lips as she tilted her head further to the side, giving him better access. He wrapped his arms around her breasts and waist, the chair an unwelcome barrier, and let his hand slide past her abdomen to her sensitive spot, weaving his finger in light circles. The writhing of her hips delighted him; as she stood up to kiss him, the chair clattered, falling on its side. He enveloped her amazing skin with his arms and body as he deeply entered her mouth.

At that moment, a Doppler effect sound of engines swooping caught their attention. The hair on the back of Bill's neck went up as he felt his stomach drop painfully, nausea overwhelming him briefly. Laura's face was taut—fierce and frightened all at once. "Oh Gods—"

The nightmare was suddenly crisp and three-dimensional. The Cylons had found them.

Laura leapt from the bed, frantically searching for clothes. "Bill, get dressed. I need to get you to 'The Cellar.' "

He wanted to ask questions, but was keenly aware neither of them should be apprehended, or all of the sacrifices would mean nothing. Clothes were hastily drug over his body as she also threw on the warmest garments she had; as soon as he had his boots on, she grabbed his hand and pulled hard. "Now. Now."

They rushed forward out of the tent. Adama could see others emerging, gathering in groups, staring up at the sky in horrific disbelief. Laura was relentless in her speed; he couldn't look around much, they were moving so fast. Ten minutes later, they were at the outskirts of the north side of the tent city. Glancing to be sure no one was watching them, Roslin stepped inside a small supply tent. With one strong swing of her foot, she pushed a heavy tarp aside, then grabbed the rope attached to a wooden trapdoor. "Get in."

"Aren't you coming too? Laura, I won't—"

Shut the frak up, Admiral. I have other things to attend to—there's a protocol developed for this event, and I'm already going to be running behind in meeting my obligations."

A thought struck Bill hard, and he grabbed her hand. "Ellen—Gods, Ellen's still here. Can you—"

"Yes. Tom will bring Sharon, if she's still here—he knows what to do; Tory will follow with Maya and Isis."

Maya and Isis? Who—it was pointless to ponder it right now. "Thank you. Will you be back?"

"Eventually. A few days. We'll probably be watched, and I can't risk anyone discovering you or the existence of this place. Now—"

"Frak, Laura, what makes you think they'll let—that anyone will be alive in a few hours? You have to get back here immediately! You can't possibly save—" he was contemplating whether or not to quit talking and toss her over his shoulder to be certain she'd be safe as they descended below.

"William Adama, I have already seen this day—this very one—in my head, and I know we'll be occupied, not obliterated. Godsdamnit, get the _frak_ down the steps!" She actually shoved him, hard enough he started to lose his balance.

He complied—stunned, despite the circumstances, by the hardness in her voice and the aggressiveness of her actions.

"Don't forget the things we said last night, Bill—I meant every word." He looked back at her as he walked the stairs.

"So did I. May the gods protect you, Laura Roslin."

She slammed the trap door down above his head, and he heard the sound of the tarp being tossed over the wood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The steps were roughly cut out, and fairly steep. Large wooden posts were embedded in the dirt to each side of the last five stairs, providing something to grip for the greatest incline to the bottom. Bill's eyes adjusted to the dim light; to his amazement, he realized there was electricity keeping the lamps going. He scanned the room, assessing its purpose.

The area was large—it would hold nearly 50 people comfortably, with room to lay down. Against the walls, canvas pallets were stacked, folding cots alongside them. A sizable wooden table had been set in the middle of the space, with enough chairs for 12 people to gather and meet. Walking deeper into the room, Adama noted a primitive latrine had been installed along the back wall, and a shower enclosure appeared to have been roughed out. He figured it was for a shower, at least—there were two water heaters next to the carve-out that could be cobbled with some pipes to produce a mix of hot and cold water.

Turning around, Adama spotted some interesting items in another corner, and moved forward to study them more closely. Shocked, he realized these were toys; not so surprising, perhaps, upon reflection. Crates lined the remaining sides, filled with dry food stores, medical supplies, clothes, and blankets. Huge barrels of water completed the inventory. It was evident they'd thought of everything—a number of people could hide in "The Cellar" for a long period of time.

Bill jumped as voices could be heard. He stepped back into a darkened corner of the room, waiting to see who walked down the steps. To his relief, Sharon appeared, followed by Zarek. Then Tory came into sight, followed by a woman and child Adama didn't recognize. He assumed they must be Maya and Isis. Everyone stared at one another, blinking as their eyes adapted to the change in brightness.

Tom spoke. "There's food, water, clothes, blankets—whatever you need. A few weapons are in the locked cabinet—here's the key." He tossed it to the Admiral.

"Don't wait up. Laura and I will be back within five days; Tyrol, Sam, and Kara will probably join around that time too. Tory can probably answer questions."

Tory nodded in agreement as Tom headed back up the steps. He paused for a moment, remembering something. "Keep your voices as low as possible. There's some paper and pens in one of the crates, if you need something to occupy your mind."

He was gone; the trap door flopped in place yet again, and the tarp rustled above.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Forty-five minutes had passed since the flight paths of the raiders had pierced the sound barrier and buzzed over the settlement. Heavy raiders and other Cylon transport ships began landing in the fields all around the city perimeter. The incessant stomping of Centurions could be heard along the walkways in between the tents, although none of the machines moved to enter the living quarters.

Taking different routes, quietly navigating to Laura's tent, Zarek, Tyrol, and Sam joined Roslin according to the _Operation Defiance_ plans established only five brief weeks earlier. As the men faced the former President, amazement lingered in their eyes, mixed with the palpable anxiety over what was to come next. Tyrol spoke first.

"Laura, how did you know?" These few were all on a first name basis now; they'd spent so much time together over the past many days, mapping out a detailed "what if" strategy, it seemed they had been a part of the same special ops force.

"Well, certainly not chamalla, if that's what you're wondering." She chuckled softly as she said it; when each minute felt so heavy, words had to dissipate some of the tensions, or they would all go mad quickly. "As I shared with you before, it came to me suddenly, the idea. Only, it wasn't exactly an idea, as much as it was an unbidden vision." The three men looked at her and simply nodded. It might be hard to fathom how a person could not only have a vision but make decisions based on it; nonetheless, fate had proved the prescience of Laura Roslin yet again.

What Roslin still refused to acknowledge to these fellow survivors was how often the visions had visited her, and why she believed it was happening. For seven days before she approached the others some weeks ago, Laura had seen the picture films in her head. The visions started as she prayed in the improvised temple each morning—flashes of conversations echoing, specific words emphasized. These lasted only a few minutes each time. Later, when she drifted into sleep at night, the apparitions re-emerged, only they were more intense and detailed. Certain elements didn't make any sense, no matter how she twisted them for better angles of interpretation, but five key things coalesced in her mind and imbued her with purpose and dread:

They Cylons would appear on New Caprica, insisting they were there for a peaceful purpose—coexistence.

Fascism would become the method by which the Cylons "governed," and forced religious practices, as well as torture and traitorous collaborations, would be the result.

The colonial military would provide no protection for the foreseeable future.

Laura and Bill would experience a rift so severe it would cripple her emotionally.

Baltar would return to the world of science, but in aid of the Cylons.

Laura had only shared the first point with this little group; it wouldn't take much to convince them the Cylons did not comprehend "peaceful co-existence" and ensure Tom, Galen, and Sam helped her plan for a potential occupation. Bill's presence might prevent elements three and four from coming to pass; it was a driving force in her decision to ask the Admiral to travel to New Caprica. Sharon's presence, while unforeseen, could only be a good omen—she would be able to help in so many aspects of resistance operations. Laura had concluded a resistance movement was the only logical response to Cylon fascist actions; Tyrol's name for the operation, "Defiance," was a perfect reflection of the mood soon to sweep over the settlers. If they didn't work hard to assert some control over their fates, the strong pull of nothingness would guarantee the destruction of 40,000 colonists—souls lost in space and time to the powers of the event horizon.

Tom was explaining to Sam and Galen how the Admiral and Sharon Agathon had ended up on the planet; he also shared that the two were now in The Cellar, safe for the time being. Laura interjected.

"We must find Ellen Tigh; she's also planet-side, and she should be protected."

Tyrol spoke up. "I think I know the woman Ellen bunked with; I'll see if I can find them both."

"Let's not take her to The Cellar just yet; I don't want anything drawing attention to the location." Laura's voice was focused and even. "We'll wait a week, as previously agreed, before meeting there and letting Ellen in on the knowledge of our visitors." Trust was not strong, where Ellen was involved, and it didn't make sense to risk any loose tongues.

"Sam and I will start recruiting for _Operation Defiance_ over the next few nights, assuming we can still get about – I don't know if there will be house arrests or curfews." Tyrol was imagining the horror if the Centurions did begin rounding people up right away or shooting those who left their tents.

"I need to proceed to Colonial One now; Baltar is probably looking for me, and that wouldn't exactly get our party off on the right foot."

Laura gestured at Tom in agreement. "Tom, no matter what you see Baltar do, don't flinch. None of them can see your distaste for that man, and they can't suspect you won't support his moves. We need you on the inside, and we need to make sure there's no desire to put you in detention."

"Nothing to worry about at all, madam pugilist—you're the one who likes to take swings at people." The Vice-President's eyes twinkled as he said it; he often teased Roslin about her love of boxing, and his nickname for her was "Pugs," though she usually threw something hard at him when he said it.

"I don't envy you, Tom—I would indeed rather begin using a few well-placed right hooks." The banter felt good, no matter how brief; it was hard to say how long any sense of humor might last among them in the days ahead.

"Well, keep your arms up, avoid the punches best you can, and stay on your feet—there are 16 rounds to go for this match." It was Sam's turn to speak; he sighed a bit as he said the last, worry flitting across his features. A moment later, a hacking cough overtook him, and he bent over, pain pulling his face taut as lungs and ribs announced displeasure at the exertions of the past half hour—rushing to the tent, talking, heart beating faster.

A perturbing realization hit Laura, as she took in the man's health condition. "My gods—where's Starbuck? I can't believe I didn't notice—"

"She was standing with me as the raiders dropped in from above; Kara said she had to find Sam, though, and apparently they missed each other," Tyrol shared.

"That still doesn't explain why Kara didn't make it here…." The now familiar dread flew up into Laura's throat.

Sam piped in, almost nonchalantly, despite his obviously weakened physical condition. "You know my wife—she probably decided to get a head start on rounding up weapons and liquor." He smiled, but the lack of warmth in it registered with the group.

"Go, now, all of you. We can't afford to be found together!" It was time to be alone with her thoughts, calm her frantic nerves; pondering Starbuck's absence would not help matters. "Sam—try to rest, as much as possible. Galen, I'm counting on you to check in on Sam until Kara returns."

Tom and Sam headed past the tent flaps to the grey-skied outdoors. Galen lingered.

"Yes?"

"Why haven't they attacked the Cylons, Laura? Where are the defenses from Galactica and Pegasus? They wouldn't just leave us here to fend for ourselves…" the man's voice constricted and the last words sounded strangled.

What should she say? She knew the probable truth, but it wouldn't help Galen at all. It was far too early for despair to set in—she had to keep them all focused on the action plan, give them a sense of control, no matter how fleeting.

"I'm certain they are going to rescue us, Tyrol, one way or another. We can't know what's happening up there; we have to pray for the men and women trying to protect us and the 10,000 people still in space. Survival first; offensive maneuvers after."

Perplexed by the woman's response, he realized he wasn't going to be able to do more than anyone else; the future, no matter how precarious, was unknown to them, and he would be forced to wait for answers to come.

"Good hunting, Laura."

'Same to you—take care of Cally and Nicholas…and Sam."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Laura's heart pounded relentlessly as she took in the tent room after Tyrol left. She grabbed a cup of water, let the liquid quell her dry throat in two gulps, then sank onto the bed, stretching out prone. It seemed such a silly thing to do, lie down right now; truthfully, though, there was little else to occupy her hands or feet at the moment. The next five days might well be the longest of her life—Bill was here and yet not here; there was no way to communicate with the others unless she risked drawing attention to herself; the vain hope the Galactica and Pegasus would defy the fate she'd seen laid out—it was fading with the daylight, which was receding early as if shrinking in fear.

Against her will and carefully constructed mental defenses, another thought turned over and over in her mind: Bill and Sharon were going to see Maya and Isis. There had been no alternative, but the implications of the four interacting made her want to slam walls with her bare hands to stave off the agitation. The decisions made only a little over a year ago were already coming to haunt her waking moments, threatening to topple over whatever semblance of happiness might still exist in this space. The fourth element, "a deep rift with William Adama"—she shuddered uncontrollably at the thought this deception, the "death" of Hera, would now unravel the bond she held most dear.

The paradox—gods, it was hard to even acknowledge the depth of it. Having Hera here, next to Laura in the classroom each day—that's where the—the what?—the _link _strengthened between them. Week by week, Laura could feel it—an almost perceptible pull, like magnets, when she was around the little girl. Whatever had been exchanged—blood mixed with blood—something else formed too. After a little too much ambrosia in the evenings, Roslin even wondered if the Cylons had refined the "nanite" technology the humans worked on unsuccessfully for many years. Could it be that tiny little machines had overtaken her own body—silent, life-saving one minute, ambiguously targeted the next? That thought was too much to bear—no, she couldn't be harboring some "Cylon-like" tendencies under her skin.

Still…the child had penetrated Laura's dreams. It wasn't like occupying them as a subject in the scenes—it was more like leading those unconscious night stories as a docent, infusing them with the details and sound. Occasionally, Laura would imagine in her sleep she was watching Hera from the wing of the Opera House in Caprica City; those visions always stopped as the toddler raced down the steps, out of Laura's sight. The feeling, the desire to run after her—it was present in those dreams, but she hadn't yet ever moved from the balcony.

In other nightmares, Hera was present, but off to the side, like an ancient Kobol chorus in a tragedy play. Her voice, adult and powerful, would say things as her hand gestured across the scenes moving before Laura; the words thrummed through Roslin's body, until it actually felt as though the words were vibrating in her brain, coming from within herself. Sadly, she couldn't remember any of Hera's declarations, at least not verbally. The engendered emotions though, the feeling associated with each frame of all of the scenes—those stuck with Laura mercilessly. On certain days over the past five weeks, Laura hadn't been able to shake the sensations all day—it was like walking in a trance between two realms—one on the physical plane, the other in a location with no boundaries at all.

When the _Operation Defiance _plans were completed, the dreams stopped. A week later, Bill Adama had arrived in her tent, and Laura had been sure his presence alone would change the time stream, thrust them all into a different universe where the changes, however slight, were enough to keep Bill close and the battlestars in orbit, beating back the Cylons. Clearly, she had been mistaken, naïve even.

Suddenly lurching up into a sitting position on the bed, Roslin clutched her stomach as the muscle contractions overwhelmed her. A minute later, dry heaves wracked her frame as the cold wind pushed through her outside her tent; the tears began to run their inevitable course down the curves of her face.

"It will not come to pass—not all of it. The gods have more love for us than that, surely…." Laura was whispering to herself. In the recesses of her mind, however, a phrase from Hera finally surfaced into her consciousness:

"Behold, the red-haired fighter falls, laid low by fear and deception. No god will take pity on her now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Battlestars Pegasus and Galactica, Ten Months after Groundbreaking Ceremony, First Day of New Caprica Occupation**

Lee was standing on the CIC platform, dumbfounded. He kept trying to move his lips, but he seemed incapacitated. He felt the eyes targeted on his body, saw the anxious shifting of feet, heard Dee and Helo whispering frantically. They didn't believe he could lead them; he had sunk that low in others' estimation. Nonetheless, Helo stepped close to the Commander, placing a hand on his back.

"Sir, we need your orders. Tigh is on the com, raising quite a firestorm; Ellen is down there. So is Sharon; so is the Admiral."

"Don't frakkin' read the list, XO—I know who's frakkin' down there!" He hadn't meant to bellow, but somehow the anger was making it easier to break out of the paralysis, become mobile.

"Then _frakking _give the orders, _Commander_."

"Ship to ship broadcast, all frequencies, Lieutenant Dualla." He didn't look at her; he fixed his eyes on the main console.

"Go ahead, Commander."

This is Commander Lee Adama, acting Senior Officer of this fleet. There are three basestars in orbit. Hundreds of raiders are swarming our ranks. With 50 pilots and skeleton crews we're outgunned and outmanned. We are therefore going to jump. Commence jump protocols; no ship—repeat no ship—may stay behind." Tigh's voice could be heard, curses and violent epithets crackling across the wireless.

"Look, you little coward, we cannot leave them. I will not leave Ellen to the whim of those son of a bitch toasters, and William Adama is the only person who can get us out of here—"

"Colonel, if you speak to me that way again, I will have you removed from the CIC. If you refuse my orders, I will have you arrested for disobeying a direct command from a senior officer, and you will be taken to the brig, under sedation if need be. Galactica Marines—confirm positions."

A man's voice filled the precipitous quiet. "Senior Marine On Duty, Sir. Ready to take actions when ordered."

Karl Agathon moved next to the Commander, purposely letting his full height establish his authority. "Is that how you plan to handle this, Sir? Am I to be thrown in the brig too? I fought too hard to save Sharon, help her become a part of this military again. I will not—"

"If you intend to disobey my orders, then, yes, that is the next step. Pegasus Marine on Duty, please move into position."

The other Marine interrupted in the all-ships broadcast. "Tigh has pulled a firearm—"

"Take him out." Commotion rattled through the com; yells could be heard, as well as the unnerving sound of shots being fired. "Galactica, report—report!" Lee was about to come unglued; this was already turning into a mutiny.

"All clear, Commander. Colonel Tigh is being brought to the brig as we speak."

Lee racked his brain; who were the other junior officers in the CIC on Galactica right now? "Lieu—Lieutenant Simpson. Confirm."

"What are your orders?"

"I am placing you in command of the Battlestar Galactica. Begin jump countdown now."

Sir, yes Sir."

Apollo spun around to face Helo. He had already allowed the Marine to bind his hands. A look of rage gripped the man, however; he actually appeared ready to kill Lee where he stood, by sheer force of will.

"Karl, I—"

"We have nothing to say. If she dies, if they die—that will rest on your conscience." Helo gestured with his shoulder to the Marine to indicate he was ready to leave; in an eerie split second of time, they'd vanished.

Aware again of the eyes and the whispering, Lee swept his gaze around the room. "Any one else?" All personnel turned to face their screens. It seemed so strange, Apollo thought—there weren't any breath sounds.

"Jump status?"

"10 seconds."

"All ships locked in on Pegasus coordinates?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Jump."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, on Colonial One, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony, First Day of Occupation**

Baltar felt the grounded ship rumbling before he spied the raiders bursting into view. It possessed him, in an instant, the madness, the abject panic. He was in a grave situation—as the current President of the Colonies on New Caprica, he was "target number one". A few civilian guards protected him outside the hatch—he hadn't been the most popular of presidents, after all—but there were no weapons aboard, only a lot of cheap alcohol and cheap women. Women already cowering in corners, he might add.

Hastily moving to find more clothes to put on, hands shaking from a hangover and a freefloating terror, Gaius thrust his feet forward to kick a few of the women in the leg as he made his way out of the bedroom door. Simpering idiots, he thought—they should be willing to lay down their lives for him, their very lives!

With a moan, Baltar entered the executive office chamber of the ship. His Chief of Staff, Felix Gaeta, was standing there, eyes unfocused, arms limp at his sides; the Vice President, who should have been here for a weekly meeting, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Zarek?"

"Huh? Wha—Mr. President, what in the gods names are we going to do? We'll be slaughtered!" Gaeta was clearly growing more agitated with each passing word; Baltar walked over to the man and slapped him hard across the left cheek, twice. "Felix, don't stand there like a disoriented child—get out and situate yourself with the frakking guards to protect me! Don't you know anything? If Vice-President Zarek isn't present, you'll have to do the honors of meeting the negotiating party."

"There won't be any godsdamned negotiations, Sir—are you still drunk? They will wipe us out—it's their sole mission." The man was pacing, wringing his hands, wondering how he'd ended up with this miserable man on this unforgiving planet on the last day of his life.

"If that was the intent, you and I wouldn't still be talking here, Mr. Gaeta. Have you seen flames, heard explosions? No? Then think, man, think! Clearly, something else is afoot. Your job—which you took an oath to lay down your life to fulfill—is to meet them first, protecting me, as your President, from possible attack or imprisonment. So get your frakking ass out there." Baltar hissed the words out, menacing and impotent at the same time.

With an unsteady gait, the Chief of Staff opened the ship's main door and stepped onto the steps. The air pressure from the rapid decent of the hatch nearly caused Gaeta to tumble head over feet into the muddy ground below. Gripping the rail at the last minute to stabilize his weight, he managed to get upright and walk towards the one guard he actually knew well, Jammer. "Have you seen any…any of them yet?"

"No. We expect toasters and a number of skin jobs to high-tail it over shortly, though, judging by the transport that just landed over there." Jammer pointed to the northeast; Gaeta could see the Cylons they knew as "Boomer," "Doral," "Gina," "Leoben," and "Cavil" walking in a horizontal line across the field in front of Colonial One, still a thousand yards off. Thirty Centurions walked behind or beside the ends of the line, the "whonk, whonk" sounds of their legs echoing across the distance. Gaeta shivered, the dampness and cold amplifying the fear still holding his lungs in a vise.

The guards and Gaeta jumped, with the word "frak" escaping lips, as a figure emerged from the side of the ship. Exhaling in relief, Jammer said "Zarek! Zarek—thank gods you came."

"Where in the frak have you been?" Gaeta was glad to see the man, but wondered why he hadn't been there earlier, for the planned briefing.

"Sorry, Felix, we aren't all as compulsive as you—I had overslept. When the raiders arrived, I was obviously motivated to scramble, get dressed, and hoof it over here. Is this really the time to be having a conversation about such crap?" Felix looked down at his boots, wondering what had possessed him, in this moment, to focus on such trivial things.

A voice cut through the conversation. "We have matters to discuss with the President of the Colonies; we understand he is here. Step aside; we only wish to talk with him." Gaeta stared into eyes of the female speaker—Boomer, or a downloaded version of her—the cadence of her voice, her movements were exactly the same as Valeri's.

"That's not possible. We are the negotiating party." It was Tom speaking; Gaeta inwardly said a blessing it was Zarek's responsibility now, not his.

"We aren't here to 'negotiate'—" it was Gina, but her appearance and her voice were different—more sultry, more threatening, more confident. "We are here to offer an armistice with the humans here, a peace, dependent on your species' acquiescence to all of our conditions."

"Well, where we come from—what do I call you?—that's recognized as a negotiation. An armistice isn't reached until a treaty is signed, which requires a cease-fire and negotiation." Tom's tone was firm and calm.

"I am referred to as Six. I was present on Caprica. I knew your—I had a number of human 'friends'. I understand the human concept of armistice; I also understand the triumphing party can set the terms of the forum for treaty discussions. We have not fired upon you; there is the 'cease-fire.' Now we will set the terms for our conversation." She smiled—it was cold, too hard to feel totally human, yet intriguing all the same, thought Tom.

"And you've assessed you're the—how did you put it—'triumphing party'—based on what? We haven't begun to fight…yet."

"Oh, but you won't. There are few weapons in the settlement—the Centurions have confirmed this by scan. And your battlestars have jumped to unknown coordinates, so I don't expect there will be any fighting from that quarter." Her eyes fixed on Tom, studying him like a new science experiment.

_Don't show them any emotion_, Tom reflected, as Laura's words came into mind…_Don't flinch_. He didn't. "You're making a lot of assumptions—but then, that's what programmed machines do, right? Make decisions based on a list of pre-established conditions? It's why humans 'triumph' sooner or later."

"You humans have an odd need to belittle what you don't understand. As a demonstration of good faith, we will not harm you; however, if you do not step aside, we will physically remove you. The Cylons will only negotiate with the President."

To the shock of the Jammer, the other guards, and Gaeta, Zarek moved away from the stairs that led to the hatch. Laura's other words kept hammering in his brain—_We need you on the inside, and we need to make sure there's no desire to put you in detention. _

Felix opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He had gotten to know Tom Zarek pretty well over the past year; the man was canny. There might be a hidden purpose; he was going to trust that was the reason for the swift about-face. Felix glared at Jammer, willing him to keep quiet.

"Thank you," Boomer said, as the Cylon group made its way up. Leoben looked back at Tom.

"What's the entry code?"

"Toaster." It was hard to suppress the smirk that wanted to bubble up and plant itself on Tom's face, but he forced his thoughts elsewhere, until the urge subsided.

Moments later, five Cylons were standing in the Executive Office. Baltar was sitting in his desk chair, attempting _not_ to look nonplussed. Surprisingly, the effort appeared to be successful, for the moment. The moment before he laid eyes on her—his lover, the one who had deceived him for her own ends, yet saved his life during the blast. She looked back at Gaius, eyes filled with—gods, filled with emotion. Her whole face bespoke intense feeling, actually. He coughed, then looked away, attempting to focus his sight on one of the others.

Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta entered wordlessly behind the Cylons, choosing a far corner in which to stand.

"Mr. Vice President, nice of you to make it." The voice dripped sarcasm; it was always Gaius' fallback demeanor, when he knew of no other way to cope.

"The Cylon group here"—Tom gestured to the individuals in front of Baltar—"they wish to negotiate terms for an armistice."

"An armistice?" Baltar looked directly into Boomer's eyes. "That's rather…interesting." He'd wanted to say something else, but reconsidered. He wasn't in any position to parade a cocky attitude.

"Yes," said his Cylon, Caprica Six.

"Please continue."

Doral spoke up. "We wish your full and complete surrender. Your military has left this sector; it would seem an easy matter to surrender without loss of life."

"And the armistice? What does that mean, in Cylon thinking?"

"We govern, with you and your—cabinet?—having input. We institute our systems, our infrastructure, our religion. Your people have freedom to congregate, talk openly, work next to us in building real structures, permanent water and electrical systems, paved roads, and equipment." Boomer was talking.

"And if we decline your offer—"

Here, Cavil added his comments. "We are prepared to be magnanimous. Your people would be permitted to live, but they would have no freedoms, until they agreed to the rest of our terms…or until you agreed to the rest of our terms."

Baltar stared at Caprica Six, studying her eyes. She seemed moved, though she was trying not to let the others recognize the rush of feelings taking hold. Her mouth opened, slightly, her front teeth resting ever so lightly on her lower lip; Gaius was certain it was a sign. It was her tell, how he had known, a time ago on Caprica, she was encouraging him to do something.

He recognized what was to be done; yet, as he went to say the words, sadness flooded him. A tear glided down his right cheek as he exhaled deeply, then said the fateful phrase: "As the President of the 12 Colonies, I offer our surrender."

Tom, nausea threatening to reveal his disgust, moved quietly to the door. "A wise choice, Sir," he managed to say. "I'd like to go to my tent, if you don't mind, and begin developing a list of information to provide to our…our new leadership. May I request your Chief of Staff's assistance?"

Baltar bowed his head slightly as a sign of affirmation. The two humans slowly walked through the door, no words or body language passing between them.

The Cylon Leoben proposed the group leave and return to the transport, readying arrangements to remain on the surface. Without another look at Baltar, they retreated down the steps, and Baltar could hear Centurions moving to encircle Colonial One.

He opened his desk drawer, pulling out a large bottle of liquor. If ever there were a time to blot out reality, this had to be it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	3. Ch 3: Stuck and Unstuck

**Chapter 3: Stuck and Unstuck**

"_When you kiss me like a lover, then you sting me like a viper...I go follow to the river, play your memory like the piper__." Indigo Girls, from the song "Ghost"_

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, 10 months after Groundbreaking Ceremony, First Day of Occupation**

Kara was running, struggling with the mud that suctioned her feet to the ground. The sounds of the raiders bludgeoned her senses; she was torn between wanting to locate Sam and finding a raptor that would take her to Galactica to get in the fight. Thankfully, Admiral Adama was in control—he'd think of something to defeat the Cylons, protect his people. An intense disquiet rumbled through her nerves as she remembered, unwillingly, the short conversation with the other Adama—he was clearly not the one to take decisive action. Hell, she wasn't even sure he wanted to save the settlers. _And you know why, Kara—Lee's a liability to all of us now because you stole something essential from him—hope_. She pushed her legs harder, wishing she was making more progress—the muck was so thick, it seemed she was almost running in place.

Finally, Kara spied her goal—their little tent. Panting, her legs beginning to cramp, she flew inside, the tent flaps swinging wildly around her. Eying the space, there was nothing—Sam was not there. Damn him! She'd left him tucked in bed; she was certain he didn't have the physical strength to get very far. Kara moved back to the tent opening, fighting to regain full control of her breath. Maybe she should stretch her legs and calves a bit before going on to the rendezvous point, Laura's tent. The knots in her thigh muscles were becoming painful. Hands on her knees, bent forward, Kara closed her eyes, willing her body to begin cooperating again.

A sense of revulsion jolted her upright. She peered into cold, light blue eyes. That look, that face—that voice. "Hello, Kara. Good to see you again." Calculating her options, she swung her left leg up hard, landing her shin in exactly the right spot. Leoben doubled over, a stunned moan piercing the air. Kara glided around him, shooting out into the freezing air beyond the tent. She made it three steps before a well-planned swooping kick knocked her off her feet. The ground was clammy next to her skin, beginning to suck the warmth from her body almost immediately. Mud clung to her pants, and she struggled for leverage to right herself. It was too late; Leoben was pressing his knees into her back, as his arms roughly grabbed her and yanked her body at an awkward angle to get her standing and in front of him.

Snaking his arms in a painful grip around her chest, Leoben slightly gasping for air as he leaned into her ear, he whispered "Let's go home." A stinging prick of one large needle into her shoulder forced a low groan, then Kara realized the world was growing dark as she slumped backwards, a dead weight in Leoben's arms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Battlestars Pegasus and Galactica, Fourth Day After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee stood in the shower, eyes shut, letting the water splash and tingle against his neck. He knew he had to steel himself; today was the day to face his outer demons at least, the ones he could interact with, talk to. The inner demons…Lee clinched his fists involuntarily, despite the relaxing sensation of the hot stream on his back, as he experienced his energy level drop just considering the number of names on that list. Better to leave those for another time. Words from a folksy tune, popular when he was at the Academy, pressed onto the tip of his tongue: "well, I tried to make it Sunday, but I got so damn depressed, so I set my sights on Monday, and I got myself undressed…"

Yeah, that was how he felt. So much easier to go back to bed, skip reality for this day as well—he was so tired. Exhausted. How did it come to this—the largest single crisis in his military life, and despite the passing of 72 hours, he'd been unable to resolve the insubordination of his senior officers, unable to hold one single meeting to discuss the future, unable to make a sole announcement to the trailing fleet of civilians and offer them assurance. Any hope the others had that a crisis would wake up Lee Adama and kick him into gear—he'd proven them wrong in that theory.

He wandered out into the bedroom area, dismayed to see Dee sitting there, obviously waiting for him. Going back to bed wasn't going to be a viable option, after all.

"Hey." He focused on drying himself off with the towel.

"Hi, Lee. Please come sit for a minute; I want to talk to you." She gestured to the chair near the bed.

"I need to get ready, Dee; maybe la—"

"Don't go there, Lee. We both know damned well you were considering going back to sleep, and today needs to be different from the other three." She gave him a penetrating look—that sad, long-suffering, determined gaze of hers. He sat down.

"Look, I realize this is overwhelming—taking the hard stand, leaving your father on that planet, facing daunting future decisions." She paused, taking in his features; Lee, feeling numb, revealed little.

Lightly wetting her dry lips, an exasperated puff of air coming from her mouth, Dee put her hands on her thighs, smoothing her pants. It almost appeared, Adama thought sardonically, as though she thought the friction would yield enough static energy to get her past the next statements.

"Your father thought you were getting soft, and I'd have to agree." Lee choked out a snorted laugh. Dee held up her hand, signaling there was more to her opening declaration. "You showed, the day the Cylons appeared on New Caprica, you still have the strong backbone to make the right calls—and you did make the right decision. Don't second-guess that.

"It's time, soldier, to pull yourself up by the boots and finish the business left over from that event. Tigh and Helo were wrong to act the way they did, and I believe they realize that now. This insane year of nothingness…we all became soft, forgot how to compartmentalize our emotions from our responsibilities—to this fleet and to the military code of conduct we all swore an oath to uphold."

Lee faced Dee directly as she uttered the last; she was being more fair than he'd expected. His chest didn't feel quite as weighted as when he'd been in the shower minutes before.

Dualla leaned forward, reaching out to put her hands on her husband's lower thighs. "Put on that Commander's uniform, stand with a straight back, and take charge. You seem to think you aren't needed, but that just isn't true. I know it felt that way, orbiting the planet for endless months, your father castigating you for the little things…but everything's shifted. Don't respond to the past year, step up to the present moment."

Apollo caressed her face, rubbing his thumb lightly along her cheekbone. Tears began to move across his own cheeks as he leaned forward to kiss her. It was a mistake, he knew, communicating a level of feeling he was all too aware now he didn't possess where she was concerned. That was one of the inner demons on the list, and he couldn't begin the macabre dance with those thoughts yet. Ana had made a concerted effort to help, and he needed to recognize her intercession on his behalf.

"Thanks, Ana."

Lee believed the conversation was ending, but Dualla caught him off guard with her next statement.

"There's no need to look back or go back. I didn't wholly agree with your stance in the past, leaving the New Capricans behind and guiding the remaining fleet of 10,000 towards Earth. Now…it's different. The Cylons had a vast advantage over us back there, just as they did during the ending of the worlds. Our own people—our own fellow soldiers—had rejected duty to play house on that sad excuse of a planet. We weren't left with the option to defend those people, fight the battle to hold back the Cylons, based on those who forgot their word and their oath.

"I am certain your father would have agreed, under these circumstances, to cut losses and leave, protecting those we could actually do something for. It's what he did after the destruction of the colonies; it's what makes sense to do now. We don't know if anyone endured, and our obligation is to ensure the survival of the remaining humans, to continue the history of the 12 colonies of Kobol."

Uncertain what to say in response, Lee simply offered a small smile. He was discomfited; the words should have resonated as an affirmation, yet somehow, he felt sullied by them. Is that how he'd sounded to his father and the others when he advocated rebuilding the military from the space-bound civilian ranks and moving forward towards a genuine future without the misguided malcontents from New Caprica?

Without any further dialogue, the man began putting on his uniform. Yes, today was the day to face the outer demons. He could only do that much.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Helo needed to be the first one to get out of hack, Lee decided; he was the officer who could remain sober and clearheaded, most of the time. No matter how angry the man was, Karl would fulfill his responsibilities as XO, and he was a good operational leader. The Pegasus crew warmed to him immediately when he came aboard; they trusted Helo, and that would be important in the weeks ahead. It was going to take a good while for Lee to rebuild his own credibility.

Apollo stood in front of Helo's cell. Karl looked up, a certain relief flooding his features. "Marine, Lieutenant Agathon is to be released now." Turning his focus on Karl, Lee continued, "Lieutenant, you're being released to quarters, at least for the next 24 hours. I'd like to spend some time talking; depending on the outcome of that conversation, you may be reinstated to active duty after that time."

Helo acknowledged the plan, silently, as the cell door was unlatched. Stepping to Lee's right, the men strolled out of the brig and towards the Commander's quarters. Once inside, taking opposite couches, Lee offered Karl some coffee that was being warmed by a small heating plate.

"Before you say anything, Sir, I'd like to make my statements first."

"Go ahead, Helo..."

"My behavior was conduct unbecoming a military officer, and I truly apologize for my lack of discipline. I also sincerely regret my poor judgment in disobeying direct orders from the commanding officer of two battlestars. I wish to be reinstated, to serve you and this fleet according to my oath."

"At ease, Lieutenant. Karl… I know I can't imagine the difficult emotions you're experiencing right now. We definitely need your leadership, and I am pleased to have you as my XO, if you are certain you can maintain objectivity and follow orders as given."

"Sir, yes Sir."

"Done then. Use the 24 hours to collect yourself and get re-situated."

"Lee…" the pause told Adama the gravity of the next question. He anticipated the issue to be raised.

"Are we going back for them, the settlers?" Helo spoke the words in a near whisper.

"I haven't determined the next course of action. I will share my decision and plan with you and the others in the next 48 hours."

"Thank you, Sir." Helo knew it was pointless to say more; should Lee decide it was too risky to return, Karl and Saul would develop an alternative plan and carry it out alone, if necessary. They couldn't rescue everyone, but there had to be a way to get a few people out—at least two.

"Dismissed."

The XO stood up. "I'll be in the CIC at 0600."

As soon as the hatch closed, Adama requested a transport to Galactica.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The conversation with Tigh had not been as easy to move through; Adama expected no less. Tigh continually threw the Admiral's previous admonitions in Lee's face. To Apollo, this was an ineffective tactic, and he was surprised Tigh insisted on trying it over and over again. In fairness, however, it was Saul's way of deflecting energy from the obvious: he loved his wife, at times to the point of obsession, and he struggled with his own internal demons on a daily basis, trying to manage the potent pheromone addiction coursing through his blood.

The harder task wasn't obtaining Tigh's agreement to follow orders; he acquiesced on that count almost immediately. No, the more difficult problem was holding Saul off, giving Lee the space to make a reasoned decision regarding next steps. The man's foul mood, exacerbated by three days of drying out, meant he was more dogged in his approach, more vicious. Despite the drubbing, Lee ordered the man's reinstatement to active duty. At least he knew how to run the ship; finding an appropriate replacement for XO was the next immediate challenge.

In his Ready room, over the next day, Apollo weighed the options. He had contended vehemently with his father in the recent past, loud enough for many to hear, that the settlers should be left to defend themselves, as they had chosen re-location freely. The bitterness Lee expressed had shocked many of the crew; they couldn't know the real source of Lee's desire to be free of New Caprica was to be free of Kara, of smashed dreams and buried hopes. The more distance placed between them, he'd thought, the more likely he could return to himself—be the son and the husband everyone expected Lee Apollo Adama to embody.

Facing a legitimate opportunity to move forward with the plan for which he'd strenuously argued the merits over the past many months, Lee found himself compelled to move in the opposite direction. Now that the mental fog was beginning to lift slightly and he had overcome the first level of his own emotional inertia, Lee was astounded to discover a sense of purpose was emerging.

What was so twisted, he conceded when he allowed himself to actually feel something of true intensity, was the reason for the gut-wrenching transformation taking place at his core: he wanted to go back to rescue Kara. Just whispering that truth under his breath in the shower the next morning caused him to shake so much he had to lean against the shower stall wall to keep his legs from buckling, because he knew he should want to rescue his father, rescue humanity, redeem his pathetic existence. No—what mattered to him, more than blood or duty or honor—was Kara Thrace. Anders, he reminded himself with disgust, Kara Anders. It didn't matter. Apparently, nothing did—she could break his heart and kill his soul and he would put everything, and everyone, on the line to see her again, breathing the spark of life into him only to start the cycle over.

After the shower, as he dressed and prepared for the first post-New Caprica strategy meeting, Lee was recognizing something else: he needed to get the weight off his chest—literally and figuratively. He had to shed the visible signs of his soul's agonizing atrophy, get his physical body back under him, put the warrior's armor back on. To do that, he had to relieve the crushing pressure on his lungs, pressure keeping any air from moving in or out of him: he had to get distance from Dee. She was sweet, and kind, and loyal, and capable—and she wanted to bludgeon him to death with her insidious methods of shaming him, emasculating him. Her hubris revealed itself through her affection for martyrdom, her insistence on being the long-suffering example of "the best support." He used to think she soothed his soul; now he realized she numbed it, and while she appeared to be full of light, for Lee Adama, she was the event horizon—drawing every particle of brightness into the inky void of mystery and decimation.

Recognizing Dualla would be dejected upon learning of his decision to proceed with a rescue plan, Apollo came up with a devious solution to his predicament, one that resolved several problems simultaneously. He would assign Dee to the Galactica to serve as Tigh's XO. Military protocol dictated an XO should be in place, keeping a chain of command hierarchy intact, in case the worst happened on a ship and the commanding officer was killed in action. Dee had already been promoted to officer status during the settlement period, when so many resigned their commissions to live planet-side.

This move was, on the surface, perfectly logical and tactical; down deep, as he was sure Dee would realize, it was the beginning of the end of them. Still, ever the martyr, he expected her to accept the assignment with limited protest; Tigh was likely to be more vehement in his objections. Tigh didn't like sharing decisions in the best of times, and these were grim days.

Apollo made the announcement 6 hours later, in the first strategy session. He pronounced it in front of the other officers, to eliminate the option of prolonged arguments, at least in public.

Dee blanched, staring open-mouthed at the audacity of the gesture. Lee was making a definitive statement—to her, to the crew, to posterity. She couldn't imagine why he would feel so emboldened to embarrass her, expose their marriage as the fragile shell it was; still, she could hardly refuse the command, and Lee knew that.

Tigh, for his own part, was equally shocked. Surely the Old Man's son knew how Tigh would feel in the face of this intrusion into the inner circle that was Bill and Saul, the Admiral and Tigh. It didn't matter whether or not Bill was present in body; no one else could enter that circle. Tigh simply shook his head as he walked out of the War Room after the meeting; he could debate the matter with Lee, but it was already clear the Commander could not be dissuaded—he wouldn't have made the decision and presented this way, with an audience, unless he meant to cut off all other options.

It was a cruel way to treat Dee, in Tigh's estimation; but then Lee had lost his most of his principles when he'd left his vitality and sense of self on New Caprica—and Tigh knew that wasn't the time they'd jumped away from the Cylons. No, the man that was Lee Adama disappeared the day Kara Thrace married, and no one had really heard from him since.

Still, Tigh reflected, as he prepared to board the raptor back to Galactica, the sheer daring of the act signaled something significant. A small glimmer had appeared in Lee's eyes, a jolt of intensity had infused his actions. Indeed, if Tigh was honest, it was the first time in a long time Lee seemed decisive, appeared to have an air of leadership about him. Maybe that might just save all their asses, Tigh thought—and they surely needed someone with a backbone right about now.

Helo's observations, privately held, were similar to Tigh's, though the two men had not shared anything. He was horrified at the awkwardness, the thick emotion suddenly swirling into the room after Lee's pronouncement. He wanted to slap the Commander across the face, hard—no man should treat his wife in such a dismissive, ruthless way. But Sharon would say…Helo's heart ached at the thought of her, but he pressed on with the idea—Sharon would say Lee was taking a first action toward survival. A raw, ragged, impudent move, as any creature fighting to escape the cave would take. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, Helo actually believed it was a good sign—maybe Apollo, the military leader, would finally come back to them. It was certainly the 11th hour.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee headed to his quarters…_their quarters_, he reminded himself with a twinge of guilt—to say the expected good-byes to his wife. When he entered, she was crying while packing up her things. He came over to her, feeling another pang of guilt, and pulled her into his arms.

"I think I deserved a private conversation about this 'decision,' Lee," she said with controlled anger.

"Yes, yes you did. I'm not…not too sure why I played it out that way. I'm just very stressed and distracted."

She stepped completely away from Lee, squaring her shoulders. "Don't toss this off as a momentary lapse of reason—it's insulting to me. If you wanted a separation, you could have just laid it all out there, instead of this 'duty and military protocol' pretense. It isn't fooling anyone, least of all your wife."

Lee paused. All things considered, the conversation could be much worse than this one was turning out to be.

"I don't know what I want, Dee—that's the truth. I do know the Galactica needs a good XO, and I need…I need…" he stumbled over the best way to get his thoughts out.

Dee interrupted, "You've needed a war, Lee, something to sink your teeth into and channel all of your anger. You've always needed more—more drama, more acknowledgement, more control. Well, you've found a new set of challenges to occupy your time, and we should thank the gods for that—eating and whining have been your only occupations in the past months, and they certainly weren't filling the voids left by an absent heart and lifeless soul."

He stood silently, as she finished packing, mulling her words. The truths, distorted by hostility, were nonetheless real. He'd like to say he regretted his actions, say he wanted to be a better husband to her, but he didn't. He was past caring. The ball was in play, at last—no matter how careless the throw or mangled the arc, it was airborne. That was something—a start.

"I'll come to see you in a few days, stay for 48 hours or so," he said, not looking at her. "I should spend some time with the Galactica crew, for morale." She scoffed at that, and he kissed her cheek, perfunctorily, to let her know he was leaving the room.

Thirty minutes later, Dee walked flight deck alone, finally finding the raptor assigned to take her over to Galactica. Surprisingly, she spotted Helo in the cockpit.

"Hey," he offered, with a small smile. "I thought you'd appreciate a friendly face for this flight, a pilot who knew when to shut the frak up."

She tried to smile in return, but couldn't muster the strength. "Thanks, Helo," she said softly, voice barely registering. They made the ride in silence, Karl squeezing her hand occasionally as she looked out the window and sobbed in her chest.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Lee sought out the Pegasus CAG, Kat, and asked her if she'd be willing to be his fitness coach—he had to get back into flight shape, and he figured she was as adept as anyone at kicking ass to push someone into top physical condition. Kat, though surprised, accepted the challenge, a little pleased the Commander came to her.

Kat had been Lee's CAG for six months, and they'd rarely talked about anything in all that time. Lee, mentally absent from his role, had left all of the pilot duties and decisions to her. It hadn't been much, really, during the settlement time on New Caprica—endless CAPs in days of sameness—but she'd been happy to take the job to live on the Pegasus. The newer ship had many comforts Galactica lacked, and Lee's indifference had resulted in a more lax crew—there were activities on the Pegasus no one would have dared to try on the Galactica, with the Old Man watching. Kat liked the discipline of the military, but she'd always had a wild streak, and it felt good to give into her vices more often.

With a challenge before her now—getting the Commander into shape would be hard work, and it had to be done quickly—she set out an aggressive exercise program and food plan. Reviewing her efforts, she grinned devilishly—yep, it was going to be fun whipping the man's ass.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Fourth Day After Occupation**

The five people in The Cellar were becoming edgy. There was precious little to do, and the lack of tasks meant there was too much time to think and therefore to worry. Bill's anxieties grew by the day—about Laura, about the settlers, about the battlestars, about the possibility of rescue. From here, he couldn't be sure the settlers were still alive, and certainly wondered what happened to the Pegasus and Galactica. Lee's state of mind over the past few months tortured Bill now—had he helped the New Capricans? Did he at least protect the fleet remaining in space? More difficult for Bill to wrap his mind around—would his son come back for them?

Tears threatened to give way when he considered how debilitating his realizations were becoming—he had contributed to the creation of a "shadow Lee," the shell of a person who querulously harangued anyone who tried to get near him. Maybe Laura had been right. She'd advised him, only a few months after making New Caprica her permanent residence, that Bill should consider taking a different approach with his son, to show more grace and offer encouragement on occasion. That simply wasn't the Admiral's way. Carolanne had provided similar advice years ago, and he'd been unable to heed it then—or later. Bill would start a conversation with the intent of making a positive comment; faced with Lee's fractious nature, however, he seemed to give into the urge, again and again, to belittle his son. For an officer who prided himself on discipline, Bill demonstrated a penchant for acting on impulse in these situations, and it certainly hadn't led to favorable outcomes.

In an attempt to stave off impending depression, Bill opted to concentrate on building things—equipment, hygiene facilities, anything he could imagine might be useful for a long-term siege. As he'd begun casting about for the right tools, he'd stumbled upon a makeshift door. It was built flush with the inner dirt wall, then plastered in dried mud to ensure it blended into the surrounding supports. When he gestured Sharon to investigate with him, they marveled to find a second significantly sized room beyond the opening. It was also lit with electrical lamps, and three functioning power generators rested against one wall. These were fueled by oil, so six large metal barrels, smelling of petro fumes, had been placed into deeply dug dirt holes in front of the equipment.

More notably, a fully functioning raptor communications panel was propped up on the table in the room. Sharon checked the controls; while everything was in good working order, it was evident the signals were being jammed by the Cylons. No colonial ship could contact them, since the channels were all blocked. Even if the Pegasus and Galactica had jumped away, sending their known coordinates through the wireless, the message might not have made its way before the jamming started. Regardless, there was no way to send a signal now or learn more about what had happened in space.

Surveying all of the work that had been done, clearly over many weeks, the Admiral wondered how the unofficial settlement leadership—Laura, Galen, Tory, Tom, Sam, and probably Kara—determined this path. It couldn't have been easy to carve out the rooms, build in the stairs and doors, and move so many supplies. Yet, they had managed to keep this place under wraps—Tory confirmed only the six leadership members and Maya knew of The Cellar's existence.

On the fourth day, too restless to remain there longer, Sharon suggested she make an excursion outside, to examine the raptor. She argued it would be possible to see, from a safe distance, evidence of the activities in the tent city, using the military-grade binoculars from the ship. There were several pieces of equipment that could be removed without damaging the ship's ability to fly, and other supplies which would be of use. Equally important, in Sharon's mind, she could check for the last known jump coordinates of the battlestars. The equipment in The Cellar might not have had sufficient power to pull in the last signals through the layers of mineralized mud and clay; the raptor, with a clear access during the occupation, might have captured the information.

Adama reluctantly agreed with the pilot's plan—it would be better for them to find out what they could—but he urged her to be very careful, since her presence would be so vital to their longer-term survival. Taking a small bag of food and a canteen of water, Sharon verified location and direction with Tory, before setting out. It appeared it would take about three hours round-trip.

Dusk was settling in when Sharon returned. All of the adults sat at the table, eating, ready to hear the pilot's report. The little girl Isis stayed curled up on her cot, reading a children's book she clearly loved.

Sharon began, "the raptor didn't appear to have been discovered by the Cylons yet—I checked for tracks. The jump coordinates were captured in the logs; the battlestars and the other ships already in space seem to have made it long enough to complete the jump successfully."

"What was their next destination?" The Admiral was craving information.

"My memory of the latest star charts is a bit rusty, Sir, but I believe they targeted a system maybe 20 light years from here. Nothing remarkable in that sector, but it contains a few radiation pockets that would help disguise the fleet." Bill could almost picture the cluster from the charts he'd been studying before he leaving for New Caprica.

And the city? Are the people…what was the extent of …the damage?" It was hard to articulate her worst fears; Tory was aware of Isis' presence, and tried not to alarm her.

"There are raiders everywhere, covering the perimeter and grounds beyond the city. Large troops of Centurions march throughout the settlement. All seven of the Cylon human models are walking around. I didn't see any fights, or apparent deaths, and heard no shots. Our people could be seen milling around or working on infrastructure projects. Their faces, though…they…it seemed like the tasks were being completed under duress; the spirits of the settlers I saw—they were grim, resolved, contained."

"That doesn't sound like the people we know…knew. Maybe they all became soft too." Bill was saddened to think no one was stepping up—there were former military among the settlers, and they hadn't risen to the occasion.

As if Sharon sensed his thoughts, she commented, "Admiral, we know the unofficial settlement leadership had a plan and I'm confident they're carrying it out. The Cylons aren't acting like the enemy we've known; despite the coercion, the humans would want to size up the situation before taking actions that would put everyone at risk. The Centurion forces alone are sufficient to take out every person in the city in a matter of minutes."

Bill sighed; he was back to sighing frequently again. "You make a strong point, Lieutenant." Wanting to shift the discussion, the Admiral asked the question nearer to his real concerns. "Did you see anyone we know, any of the leadership members?"

The pilot shook her head, knowing it wasn't what the Admiral was hoping to learn. "Based on what I saw, though, the Cylons aren't ransacking living areas; I didn't see prisoners being marched anywhere; the settlers looked tense, but not acutely frightened." She hoped those observations might bring the man a little comfort.

Bill looked up at her, eyes bright with the search for answers to new questions. He was beginning to wonder why the Cylons were conducting themselves in an unorthodox way—it was a relief, in the moment, but it was also disturbing.

"Sharon…I don't want you to feel that I'm treating you like the 'Cylon Encyclopedia,' but I have to ask—do you have any idea what's driving these changes in their behavior? It doesn't fit anything we've seen in the past."

Tory and Maya leaned in slightly towards Sharon, equally interested in hearing her speculations on Cylon motives.

"I've been away for quite a while now, Sir—they're evolving, so it's hard to project…"

"Just give us your best assessment, soldier."

"There were three different paradigms beginning to be debated among the Cylon models. Three of them—Simon, Doral, and the one you know as D'Anna—held the view that Cylons were superior to humans, making them obsolete. It was a wasted expense of energy and resources to contend with them—destruction was the best answer.

"The ones you know as Boomer and Gina supported the second paradigm. Humans are a curious group, worthy of study. Just as humans studied chimpanzees, their evolutionary ancestors, so these Cylons believe humans should be observed. Boomer and Gina models do not, however, think Cylons should interfere with the destiny that has happened before and will happen again—the humans will be returned to dust, before the cycles repeat, as God has outlined in the prophecies.

"The last models—Leoben and Cavil—they are convinced Cylons _should_ intervene, because the humans need to be saved, need to find the path to the one true God. To them, humans are inferior beings, but can still be brought into the progressive evolutionary fold. To prove Cylon commitment to God, it is important to teach the humans, convert them to God's plan and change the epic cycles."

Bill simply shook his head. Such arrogance! And yet…could he say the Colonials were different? _Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore. _The humans had tried to hide…and failed. Whatever the Cylons were, whatever their motivations, they forced the human race to face itself, confront the reality of human limitations. The Cylons also spurred the people to reach down deep and confront the reality of their own possibilities, the many things that can be accomplished when triumphing over the harsh understanding of limits.

Out of nowhere, the child's voice rang out, standing close to Sharon. "What is 'God?' "

Maya started, "Isis, we're having a grown-ups' conversation. I don't think the Lieu—"

"No, no, it's fine. Curiosity in the divine is healthy, whatever you believe. Isis, has your mom talked to you about our gods—like Apollo, Zeus, Hera?" The little girl nodded. Sharon glanced at Maya, who nodded it was alright to continue.

"Well, the Cylons don't recognize all of those people as gods. They think those people are different sides of a single God. Same powers to help—but all belonging to one individual."

"I don't think their God uses powers to help!" Bill said it forcefully, more intensely than he'd intended. The little girl took a big step backwards, but held Sharon's gaze.

"Athena's here; she'll use powers, keep bad god away—save them both." Everyone stared at Isis; she was pointing to Sharon, her face somehow appearing more adult than child.

There was a peculiar stillness in the room; all looked to one another, but no words were said. Then, as if shaking herself back to the physical plane, Maya stood up, pulling Isis' arm down gently. "Dear, you're tired. We can talk about these things more tomorrow, if you like; right now, it's time for you to get some sleep. The adults are going to be quiet, to help you get your rest."

Bill, drained from the revelations of the evening, decided now was as good a time as any to hit the rack himself. It didn't make sense to pay attention to a child's utterings, despite the way they'd ended conversation for the evening…but the words piqued his curiosity…_keep the bad god away and save them both_. Save whom?

As he moved around the table, his eyes caught Sharon, slumped over, wincing. With a sidelong step, he came and knelt beside her. "Sharon—what is it? Are you okay?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and haunted. "I…I don't…I can't…"

The Admiral, sensing she was trembling, ready to fall apart, pulled her into his chest, holding her. The tears came softly; he could feel them against his cheek. She finally whispered in his ear, "Athena—it's my new call sign—the other pilots just chose it for me. No one knew…" They remained holding each other for a few more minutes, until Sharon finally pulled away.

"Thank you, Sir. I don't know why that affected me so much—there's just something about the way Isis spoke to me. So familiar, so intimate."

"We've all had a rough go of it. Sometimes the harrowing nature of it all—our minds play tricks with us, imbue things with meaning that are illusions."

The pilot nodded. "I'm going to my rack, now, Sir. I'm very…tired."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Thank you for all you did today."

As Bill settled into the cot, his back to the women in the room, head nestled in his elbow, he resolved to find out more about Maya and Isis. Something had bothered him from the start about their presence; why were they so important? The toys he had seen when he first entered The Cellar—they belonged to Isis. It was clear this place was meant, in part, to protect her from something, and it was more than the general threat of Cylon presence. Maya was the only person who wasn't part of the settler leadership, the only person who wasn't known to the group previously. Yet, clearly, the woman knew Laura well—Maya helped in the school. Which meant…which meant Laura could keep a close eye on the child as well. He was experiencing a gnawing tightness in his chest; it was the feeling that always came over him when something truly appalling was about to happen.

_Tomorrow_, he thought, _I'm going to figure out the connections, how Maya and Isis came to be linked with Laura Roslin_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Baltar sat in the corner of the room, watching the Cylon models interact. It was so bloody confusing, trying to keep track of who was who—they all dressed differently, thank gods, but that method only lasted a day before he had to start memorizing all over again. Still, most of them only wanted to be referred to by their number, "Three" or "Eight" or whatever. No creativity—how the Cylons believed they had evolved beyond the humans, when they couldn't even name themselves, was beyond him. At least they could form groups or clusters—that might help—"Six of Nine" or "Eight of Eighteen." It was certainly more identifying than hundreds of machines running around with a single digit moniker.

Gaius had plenty of time for idle speculations of this sort ever since the occupation began. Once Baltar surrendered, it appeared they had little use for him; he was told about various meetings and functions, like this one, but only for sport—no one ever talked to him. Every once and a while, a Cylon model would talk _at_ Gaius, spouting off one religious theory or another, but there were no conversations. Baltar was invisible, and he hated it. He'd never actually lusted for power, but he had a voracious appetite for adulation. The power had been a pleasant side benefit—until it became work, and then a burden altogether. For a time, drinking and sex had artificially lifted some of the oppressiveness—until the Cylons appeared. Now, even those diversions didn't soothe his wounded ego. He ached to find something more effective. If he couldn't garner any respect from these machines—save perhaps one—then he'd rather stay in his head—it was the place he liked best anyway.

Of course, Caprica Six, as he thought of the Cylon, had approached him as soon as she could break away from the group on New Caprica. She was the downloaded version of the woman he'd pursued relentlessly before the war, the stunner who played him like a man with a one-hundred IQ. Maybe lower. He shook his head in disgust at the memory; the whole of humanity, cavalierly handed over to impress the magnificent creature. And it worked. She was so impressed, she actually thought herself in love with him, even after a download and who knows what else in between. Caprica Six had made sure to spend time with him every day over the past week, making passes at him, talking to him, bringing him small gifts.

The problem was…he giggled in mid-thought, noting the absurd humor inherent in this situation—the problem was, he was in love with someone else. And for Gaius Baltar, nothing ordinary would do. Human women were usually not much of a challenge. Cylon women—one woman—she had been a challenge, but when he learned who and what she was, the real—what, "person?"—held no more interest for him. Of course, he hadn't really figured that out when he met Gina; up until the moment he finally slept with her, he believed maybe he was still in love with the Cylon model, in whatever form she came to him. Afterward, feeling so empty, he realized he wasn't connected to the actual Cylon anymore.

No, someone infinitely more interesting and challenging had come along: the projection in his head. It probably meant—he chuckled darkly—it probably meant he was in love with his own subconscious mind—most in love with himself. Regardless, what he experienced with the mental version of Caprica Six—it was breathlessly engaging. He'd never been so intrigued and so frustrated by a woman before. She matched him in intelligence; she appreciated his wit; she was probing and sarcastic. She was also ruthless, forcing him into unimaginable knots when she wanted him to comply with her. Yes, this woman—he was intensely in love with her. He coveted her touch, her voice, her lovemaking. Not wishing to add to his madness, he had finally named the projection: she was christened Vivian. Baltar thought it a perfect choice—like "vivacious"… or "vicious" or "eviscerate"…gods, his brain was actually stuttering.

Most days, he called her "Vivi". It annoyed her no end, which was part of the point. She had visited him daily too, this past week, offering commentary as he tried to interact with Zarek or Gaeta or Caprica Six. At night, she pleasured him, with climaxes so shuddering he couldn't move afterward. But she didn't always make an appearance; the absences were torment. If he could find a way to remain with Vivian, in his head, in the places he used to love on Caprica, he would sell his soul to do it. Assuming he had any soul left to bargain with.

"Hello, Gaius." This aspect tended to unsettle him—Vivian's voice, but not her words, her thoughts. Caprica Six had seated herself.

"Hello. Lovely party—Cylons really know how to have a rollicking time." Baltar rolled his eyes. It was so hard to hide his disdain for the machines' attempts at socializing.

"Enough sarcasm, Gaius—don't you ever grow tired of your own whining?"

"No, dear, not really—I find it quite comfortable, like an old shoe."

Caprica Six looked at him quizzically—"an old shoe?"

"Never mind. If it requires explaining, it isn't worth covering."

"Well, there's no reason to be so acerbic. I've brought you something that might take that bitter edge off—God understands your pain."

Baltar was interested. "Go on…what is it?"

"It's called 'Lethe'—for 'travel to oblivion.' "

"Lovely sentiment—why do Cylons need to travel there? Don't you just project where you want to be?"

"Yes, of course. Some of us, though—we've been searching for something more—potent. The combination of our advanced programming and our biological responses—Lethe brings us over the edge. It's like coming--better actually—the sensations last in long waves. We can be in several overlapping projections of our own making, passing emotions through one another in entirely new ways. Afterward…well, you don't want there to be an afterward. The body is spent, as is the mind. I'm not sure your puny human brain can handle it."

Never one to miss an opportunity to impress through challenge, Gaius pushed Caprica Six eagerly. "I would like to try this Lethe."

"I thought you might. First, I get something I want."

"Naturally."

"Kiss me—and it needs to be deep and total. If you hold back, so will I—" and she held the pill away from her body.

Baltar studied her for a moment, letting her drink in his eyes. Two could play this game—after all, he'd learned his best tricks from her. Finally, he took his hands and languorously cupped her face. She closed her eyes, licking her lips in anticipation. He ran his hands through her hair, massaging her scalp, as he moved in to jut his wet tongue into her ear, just the way she enjoyed. Her body arched, cat-like, and he felt the weight of her head rest more heavily in his hands. Sliding his lips, moist and warm, along her neck, he moved from one side of her face to the other, then swept his mouth along her temples, in one move. She leaned back, moaning. Finally, he placed his mouth over hers, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, letting his tongue flicker in to touch hers teasingly. Pulling her tightly into an embrace, he leaned forward, so that her whole back was suspended in his arms, as he breathed deeply into her and allowed her free reign in responding.

Slowly pulling away at last, a smirk crossing his face, eyes twinkling, he said "Total?"

"Ummmhumm." Opening her eyes reluctantly, she popped the pill into her mouth. "Now you can have your treat."

Sighing, knowing Caprica Six had trumped him again, he leaned forward, giving her what she wanted in the second kiss until she finally planted the pill on his tongue. The moment he felt the object safely transferred, he abruptly broke the connection, grabbing his jacket as he stood up. Without another word, he exited the room, swallowing quickly as he made his way back to Colonial One.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Sixth Day After Occupation**

The Admiral had tracked time in The Cellar using the chrono imbedded in the raptor communications panel in the second room. Six days had passed since their arrival in this place, and he was gravely concerned. It was hard to understand what could have happened that no one came to check on them; he feared the leadership had been rounded up already.

To occupy himself and hold his anxiety at bay, Bill assembled the makeshift shower. He started with the plumbing; the tricky part had been constructing some sort of drain. He jerry-rigged a trap that would use gravity to draw the water to a collection tub just outside the shower; they could use the captured water to wash clothes. He punched holes into the bottom of the tub, then placed a section of tarp over them; it would keep in enough of the water for laundering. Removing the tarp, the water would drain into the ground, slowly enough to limit damage to the ground's integrity; the surrounding dirt might become continually wet, so it would have to be monitored for future problems.

Satisfied with those efforts, Bill turned to the walls of the roughed out area. With Sharon's help, using two layers of tarp, all of the surfaces were covered. The sheeting had to be taut, or mud would be a constant companion; he meticulously tapped nails along every joint, narrowly spaced, to ensure endurance over repeated use. The shower head was an awkward contraption at best; the water heaters had to remain outside the stall, so the piping and fixture ran along the ceiling, then elbowed to one edge of the cubicle. The mixing for temperature would have to be done outside the stall, off the water heaters (one would be heated, the other left unplugged); there was no help for that. The final flourish—a tarp curtain—and the shower was ready to be tested. After six days underground, the man was ready for the simple pleasure of a hot, soothing wash. Once again, Bill was impressed with the planning of Laura and the others; soap and shampoo were actually in the storage bins, as were towels.

The contraption worked beautifully, and it was the best 15 minutes Bill had experienced in a while. He could take a temporary respite from the tensions surrounding them and feel satisfaction in successful work. Afterward, the others were eager for their turns; these were spaced throughout the day, however, to avoid over-saturation of the ground, and each person was carefully timed to conserve as much water as possible.

Towards what Bill guessed from the chrono to be nightfall, sounds were finally heard at the top of the stairs. As a precaution, the Admiral and Sharon stood to each side of the steps, guns in hand. They were all greeted by warm sounds of joy as Laura, Tyrol, and Ellen made their way below. Each one was carrying a duffel or two, all quickly set on the table.

Laura turned to Bill, a broad smile across her face; he picked her up to actually swing her around, he was so elated. Lost in sensations of relief, Bill forgot himself, kissing her long and hard, reveling in the feel of her body warm against his own. As they finally pulled slightly apart, Bill caught Ellen in the periphery of his vision, noting the gaping mouth staring at him. Acutely aware now of the others in the room, he could look around and see similar versions of shock the others' faces. Laura, sensing the tension as people began absorbing a shift in worldview, grinned and hugged Bill close to her. "Close the mouths, people! You all suspected it—admit it."

Tyrol smiled back. "Okay, yeah…yeah, we had a cubit pool betting something was going on."

"And you wagered?"

"Gods, Roslin! Of course—" he laughed like a little kid—"I bet that the two of you were, um, involved. Too bad I can't collect from everyone now!"

Sharon nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'm missing on my share of the pot too."

Laura turned to Tory, a twinkle in her eye. "Surely you didn't…"

Tory looked quite sheepish, revealing complicity as well.

Bill was a little taken aback at the admissions; he'd never understood the human need for gossip and speculation. Clearly, though, no one meant it unkindly in this case, and the people in the room seemed genuinely pleased. Feeling he somehow had more license now, Adama leaned in to kiss Laura again, which was greeted with a few whistles and cat calls. It was wonderful, hearing the voices of these people again.

Laura moved towards the table and began pulling out some prepared food. Galen picked up two of the duffels, removing components for what Bill soon realized were space heaters. "Blessings of Demeter to you, Galen," said Maya. "We have really been struggling with the cold down here when trying to sleep. It will be so much better for Isis!"

"Yes, Ma'am, I figured as much. We'd been building these in anticipation of when we'd have to hole up in The Cellar, but I hadn't completed them quite in time, as it turned out." Sharon caught the Admiral's eye, listening to Tyrol's comments. Both wondered again how the group had decided to prepare for an occupation, given the Cylon pattern for destruction until now. Laura saw the look pass between them; she realized she would need to tell Bill about the visions—some of them—when there was a little more time for private conversation.

"Admiral, Sam and Tom will be making their way here over the next hour or so. We didn't want to draw attention by leaving too close to one another."

Bill nodded his understanding, then his eyes brightened a bit. "What about Kara? I want to see that Starbuck grin—" Laura's face tensed; Ellen's eyes welled with tears, and Galen looked down to the floor.

"Have they rounded people up? Is she hurt?" It was too much to consider—there'd been no opportunity to even lay eyes on her, and she might be gone.

"It seems one of the Cylon models sought her out specifically—he asked questions until he found the right tent," Laura shared quietly.

"Leoben. Gods, it had to be Leoben." Pain flared through his features. Adama was sure the man was capable of torture, and the Cylon became fixated on Starbuck when she interrogated him on Galactica.

"We don't know much, only that they must have taken her shortly after arrival; I'd been standing next to her when the raiders first appeared, but she didn't show up at the rendezvous point only 30 minutes later." Tyrol still wished he'd grabbed her arm, or gone with her to check on Sam in the tent—she might still be with them right now.

The Admiral suddenly felt the need to sit down. When would the losses at the hands of the Cylons stop? Day after day, year upon year. Even he was beginning to wonder how much one person could take—for Kara, or for himself, or for any of them.

Laura pulled up a chair next to his, and the others gathered around the table to eat. It took a few minutes for conversation to begin again; Kara's capture was just the first tragic loss in what they dreaded would be very hard times to come. It was actually Isis who broke the silence first. "Ada-ma made shower work. Mom let me play with sh—sha--shampoo bubbles!" Roslin smiled, while all heads turned to examine the Admiral's handiwork.

"Well, Sir, I didn't realize plumbing was one of your talents. We'd been debating how to set up the drain…"Galen whistled softly as he admired the man's ingenuity. "Nice work, Admiral—very nice work."

"Thank you, Petty Officer. Hopefully you'll each have an opportunity to test it out—it is quite a treat, given the starkness of the living conditions. We have to grab our pleasures where we can." He smiled as he said it, and squeezed Laura's thigh under the table; she couldn't control the grin as he did it.

When they were finished with the meal and small talk—out of respect for Isis, everyone had refrained from raising the more sobering topics on their minds—Laura suggested Maya put the child to bed while the rest of them moved into the separate room. Ellen wisely chose to remain with Maya; she understood she wouldn't be considered a part of the decision group. At that time, Sam and Tom appeared as well, which meant it was time to start discussions in earnest.

Pulling all of the chairs inside the inner area, everyone sat close together; the power generators kept this room warm, putting the individuals a little more at ease as they launched into the long discussion for the evening. Laura spoke first.

"I think we should bring Bill—the Admiral—and Sharon up to speed on what's transpired over the past few days." The others indicated their assent.

"We have a few details that might be helpful to you too, thanks to Sharon's recon mission."

Roslin raised her eyebrows in surprise. Adama suggested Sharon might want to start first, since it would fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle related to the fate of the battlestars. After the lieutenant shared the information, Tom spoke up.

"Admiral, given the military's actions, when do you think they'll come back for us?"

Bill rubbed his six-day stubble with his hand held over his mouth; he was unconsciously conveying his reluctance to express his real thoughts. "To be honest, Tom, I don't know if or when. Tigh and Agathon will want to return; the Commander is going to be less inclined."

"Less inclined? What does that mean? I can't believe you just described your son with those words!" Zarek was immediately angry; what had taken place over the past year that would lead a son to consider abandoning his father to the Cylons?

"Tom, this is hard enough without listening to your accusatory tone—back up and back off." Adama's voice was resonating and baritone, leaving little doubt he was reaching his limit of tolerance for a lot of things.

"My apologies, Admiral. I simply meant I'm surprised you believe your son might not return for you or any of us." Tom shook his head, and slid his hands forward across each side of his face, covering his mouth similar to Adama's actions a few moments earlier. Laura realized it was time to intercede.

"We're going to assume the battlestars will return for us, in time, and we must also assume we need to brace ourselves for a long wait. I have confidence in Commander Lee Adama, Colonel Tigh, and Lieutenant Karl Agathon. They will have to figure out a battle strategy, offensively and defensively, and they'll probably need to train new civilians to implement that strategy. Harrowing though it may be, we need to maintain resolve and practice patience."

"What—did your visions tell you that?" It was Sam; he was distraught and in no mood for mystical solutions to painful and intractable problems.

Laura grimaced. This was not how she wanted to topic to come up. She saw Bill and Sharon looking expectantly; she would have to give some explanation. "I've been having recurring dreams; one foreshadowed the Cylon occupation." Roslin waited a beat, letting that announcement sink in. Turning to Sam, she continued "another showed us on New Caprica, with the Cylons, for an extended period of time. The Colonial military returns; I saw the battlestars in orbit, with ships coming to the surface."

"And?" Sam was unimpressed.

"That's…that's all. It's a vision, not a crystal ball."

Sam scoffed loudly. "There's a frakkin' difference?"

"Enough! Anders, you're in a lot of pain right now, but you forget yourself, sir." Bill was incensed at the man's dismissiveness.

"No, it's all right—I feel a similar frustration, believe me. There are…several visions, each with a different focus. There are many images and snatches of conversations, but I can't line everything up." Laura folded her hands on the table, her head bent; it was distressing, seeing only fragments of the picture.

"And what about Kara—did you see that? Do you know anything about what happens to her?"

"Sam, I'm sorry, but no…there were no signs related to Kara, at least not in the dreams I've had up to now."

"Maybe we should focus on the situation in front of us…" Tyrol was uncomfortable, and he knew there were more pragmatic things they should be using the time to plan for.

"Yeah, Galen, you're right. Sorry man; I'm just so frakkin' pissed off right now, it's hard to…" Sam's voice caught. He put his fist to his mouth, trying to stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. Bill put his hand on the man's shoulder; there wasn't much anyone could say to assuage Sam's fears—or the Admiral's own.

"What activities have the Cylons pursued in this first week?" Sharon thought she could help anticipate next moves, if she had a better understanding of current events.

Zarek jumped in. "So far, it's been tense, but calm, for lack of a better way to put it. The Centurions are everywhere. Baltar made a speech, the first day, announcing the surrender, and telling the settlers the Cylons intend to help us build utilities for running water, electricity, and hydroponics. With our help—which has meant they've been telling us what to do, and we have to carry out all of the labor."

Sharon asked, "Have they rounded up others, besides Kara?"

"No. Some of the models look like they'd like nothing better than to haul our asses off to the detention center, but so far, it hasn't happened. Only a matter of time though."

"What makes you say that?" Bill couldn't tell if it was Tom's general pessimism, or something specific that prompted the comment.

"The Cylon models have worked on only one project themselves, without using human labor—finishing up the building of the detention center. A lot of equipment has been installed, and it looks like they've put up electrical fences around the outer perimeter."

"They're also building a headquarters building," Galen chimed in. "It's going to be three stories, by the looks of things, with living quarters, labs, offices—everything needed to run a command here."

"To what end? Why are they really here—what do they want?" Bill was agitated; none of it made sense.

"I can tell you what they've shared with Baltar: they want to 'understand us better' by living with us, helping us. The Cylons also want all of humanity to embrace 'the one true God.' "

"Which accomplishes what?" Adama's voice boomed in the space; Laura touched his hand, signaling he needed to reign himself in.

"Redemption. Salvation." Sharon interjected in a low voice.

"Ours or theirs?" Laura peered into Sharon's eyes, unblinking.

"Both."

Tom nodded. "She's right. Two of the models—Boomer and Gina—they've told Gaius they think it was a mistake to have destroyed the humans' worlds. They want to demonstrate the Cylons can act more compassionately, co-exist with humans, so that God will forgive the transgression. There's two others—Doral and Cavil—they want the religious conversion. Which frankly scares me more…I get the sense they'll stop at nothing to ensure our 'cooperation.' "

"So much for compassionate co-existence…" Laura stated snidely.

"To be blunt, they're really an extension of Baltar at this point."

"Tom, I'm not sure I'd put it quite like that…he certainly isn't running anything!"

"Laura, the Cylons are putting humans on 14 hour shifts of work, just as Gaius had established not even a week before their arrival. Ten hours off, then another shift. It's grinding, and we're going to start seeing people drop like flies from illness and exhaustion." Zarek looked away from her and the group; he wanted to destroy something, and it was all he could do not to start bombing Cylon ships and construction. Yet, he of all of them, wouldn't get the chance—he had to stay on the inside, pretend to accept the events around him, dissemble in front of the Cylon models.

"It's difficult for you Tom, seeing what's ahead; I get that. And we need to put Operation Defiance into action—soon. I'd just like to gather some more intel before we start poking the fanged beasts."

"And here's the first installment." Zarek pulled several sheets of paper out of his jacket, handing them to Laura. She scanned the contents, then passed the documents to Bill.

"Terrific work, Tom. That data will help us in our rescue preparations as well." Tom rolled his eyes; he was still quite shaken by the Admiral's comments earlier regarding Lee's motivation.

"Sam and Galen, I'd like you to review the construction project maps with Tom, and begin laying out a demolition plan; the detention center and headquarters seem like ideal targets. Admiral, I'm going to ask you and Lieutenant Agathon to begin developing some tactical plans related to the rescue. I started a basic outline of our main challenges and decisions to tackle. Here—I've made a copy for each of you."

Bill looked down at the paper handed to him, covered with Roslin's perfect script.

_PREPARATIONS FOR RESCUE (Not in order of prioritization)_

_1. Free prisoners in detention center, and get them on a transport ship with medical support _

_2. Gather supplies without detection, stockpiling on grounded colonial vessels_

_3. Develop tactics for knocking out Centurion forces on the day of rescue and creating sufficient distractions to aid rescuers in reaching the planet_

_4. Develop tactics to disable raiders now on the ground_

_5. Obtain launch keys for colonial grounded ships_

_6. Check fuel levels and FTL drive functioning on grounded ships (is this possible?)_

_7. Identify and subtly mark colonial ships that are not space-flight worthy in an evacuation_

_8.Insure fundamental supplies—water, food, sanitation--are on the ships, in the event initial re-integration with the fleet takes several days_

_9. Gather weapons to defend evacuation points during the rescue_

_10. Establish communication lines/signals planet-side_

_11. Other considerations: place Baltar in custody; restore a temporary government structure to stabilize the re-integrated fleet; track those that die in the rescue, those saved, and final fleet population numbers _

Bill commented, "Well, Roslin, as usual, you're succinct, but you have some pretty tall orders here. Sharon and I will start on the tactical strategies right away; some of the operational issues will require support from all of you." Laura nodded.

Sharon turned and intently stared at Laura, causing her to hold her breath for a moment. "The prisoners in the detention center—the first item on your list—it obviously struck you immediately. What did you see in your vision?" It was a question with an underlying assumption: there had been prisoners in Roslin's dreams. Laura decided it was time to reveal a little more about the totalitarianism descending upon all of them in the near future.

"I saw a large number of people—many we know—in cells, submitted to torture—beatings, sensory assaults. There was illness and no medical attention. It appeared to have been taking place for some time."

"Then are you sure, Roslin, a plan of resistance is the best course of action? Maybe the future shifts if we consider a less explicit—"

"Don't make me question which side you're on, Lieutenant—"

"And don't make me question yours, Laura Roslin! I'm a soldier, and I still recognize the value of circumspection; surely you, as a former president, understand the importance of democratic discourse." Sharon was angry; her distrust of Roslin, after so many months held in captivity on the Galactica, had not receded in the year since the woman moved to the planet surface.

Laura stood up. "The Admiral trusts you, so I'll let that last comment go. I know what is to happen, and I am certain about what we must do in preparation. I would be foolish not to recognize the importance of your role in ensuring our survival, and in deference to the Admiral, I'm including you in our leadership discussions. It goes against my better judgment, frankly, but we are going to need your help. At the end of the day, however, the Admiral or I make the final calls; when that happens, I don't expect further debate. Do you agree to abide by that?" It was an ultimatum, not a question.

"Humans are not the only ones to have a 'sixth sense' of things. I think the cost of your overt resistance plan is high; you'll carry the scars of it long into the future, as will the Admiral. Nonetheless, as I am pledged to carry out my commanding officer's orders, and will do so, to the best of my ability."

"Roslin, Lieutenant Agathon has reaffirmed her loyalty. I trust we don't need to have this discussion again." Laura could hear the anger in his voice; he was emotionally spent, and this sparring was over the line; the look on his face suggested he thought Laura's actions were beneath her. Roslin decided acquiescence was best.

"Lieutenant, thank you for your forthrightness. If you'll excuse us, I'd like to talk to the Admiral for a few minutes alone." Laura stepped to the man's right side, signaling an end to the conversation.

With a slight tilt of the head, Sharon looked into Bill's eyes in gratitude and stepped outside the room. As she closed the door, she leaned against it, shutting her eyes in exhaustion. Roslin was sure the imprisonments would happen regardless of the settlers' actions; Sharon was equally certain the direct attacks would become the main driver for this Cylon response. Laura didn't know how to think like a machine. Logic dictated for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction; there is no limit or boundary for this in physics. Each escalation would be met with a parallel response, human to Cylon or Cylon to human. The only way to end the cycle would be to step out of the pattern. Apparently, none were ready to take the chance and break the paradigm. Yet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	4. Ch 4: No Proof Through the Night

**Chapter 4: No Proof Through the Night**

"…_'Relax,' said the night man, 'We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.' " Eagles, Hotel California_

"…_.And I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick through my heart…but at this point you rush right through me and I start to drown…" Indigo Girls, Ghost_

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Four Weeks After Occupation**

It was daytime; for some reason, after the first week of captivity, Leoben had placed Kara in this cell, one that looked more like an apartment, with triple-paned, reinforced windows letting in the light. It was a cruel illusion, really, adding apertures that provided a view of nothing. Raiders buzzed by occasionally, in the distance, but she never spotted another living person, or machine for that matter, in the small, barren courtyard below. The only thing Kara gleaned from the window placements was that her location sat several stories up in the detention center building President Baltar began erecting before the Cylons even appeared. Lucky her, that the toasters had seen fit to add levels and "apartment" prisons to Baltar's original plans.

Kara had not seen or spoken to anyone save her captor. It was beginning to feel as though she had always been in this place—suspended, no sense of the time passing, no feeling of belonging anywhere—surreal to consider if someone outside of this 1,000 square-foot area was even looking for her, remembering her.

She was remembering them, though, the people who had suffused her with the gifts of inspiration, determination…love. It was the only way she could manage the physical pain, by keeping her thoughts on certain parts of the past, allowing herself to stay in sacred compartments of her mind. It was strange, honestly, this focus on her own thoughts and motivations. Kara had doggedly avoided self-examination—until now. Given few options—no paper and pen, no tools, no books, no means of escape, no companionship, no medication or treatment for the wounds inflicted—she realized there was little recourse unless she retreated into her own world, found the comforting cubbyholes in her memories where she could curl up and find refuge.

Whenever the pain was too intense and she had to come back to the present, she would take a brief inventory of her latest injuries. The days smeared together, one into the next, but she thought she recalled eight physical beating sessions and six psychological ones. Right now, her head throbbed from the latest physical abuse—headphones with noise assaults—screeching engines, at maximum volume, played for hours. Her labored breathing told her two, maybe three ribs were also broken in the last encounter, since she'd tried to smash the receiver with her feet to stop the sounds, and Leoben had responded with a few blows to her solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her.

Kara had asked Leoben, after the second beating several weeks earlier, why he was torturing her—she wanted to know if it was for revenge, sport, or specific intelligence information. He never answered the question. In the next psych session, two days later, he apparently reconsidered, and shared with Kara his central motivation. She fervently wished she'd left the issue alone, once he spelled out his rationale.

"_Because I know your special destiny, Kara Thrace, and I'm here to make certain you fulfill it. God chose me to be the instrument of enlightenment for you, and gave me a great gift as well. I love you, Kara, and one day, you'll feel the same. Once you've perceived the wisdom of things. _

"_I have to break you down completely to build you back up; you'll come to see I'm the person to trust, the shoulder you can fully lean on, the man who appreciates you to your very essence. Your mother—she failed to illuminate your spirit because she only knew how to break down, how to destroy. I am your new foundation. With my help, you'll realize the path, how to reach the focal point of our common evolutionary kin—the people of Earth. And when we do—reach that point—you'll understand how you love me and why. You'll say it out loud, you'll embrace our future. I swear it, Kara."_

The smile Leoben added after his little speech lit the spark of rage within Kara. Despite the strained muscles and torn ligaments, overcoming the sedating drug the Cylon had administered 20 minutes earlier, she managed to fly towards Leoben, spin him pinned in his chair, and snap his neck neatly in two. Of course, just like her mother, there was a price to be paid for retaliating…the next physical torture involved electrocution and near-drownings. Revenge motivated Leoben after all.

He made sure the psych sessions were just as excruciating after that. Leoben would show her pictures and force her to tell him a memory associated with each one; he'd hound her with questions about her inner demons; he'd give her food or medical treatment only when she answered the questions. The Cylons used some sort of instrument that measured degrees of veracity, so he knew when Kara outright lied or obscured things. After the first three experiences, Kara realized Leoben couldn't distinguish between surface truths and deeper ones, so she trained herself to share only the stories and impressions she was willing to part with. The hardest times were when the Cylon waved photos of the Adamas in her face. Strangely, Lee wasn't in these images; the questions always probed her reactions to the Old Man and Zak. It required a great deal of energy to limit the stories to those two, but she did it to keep the most important mental cubbyholes intact.

Each morning-night cycle brought misery, unless Leoben left her alone for some reason, and that happened rarely as the weeks wore on. Kara dreaded the physical abuse sessions less, because at least she knew the techniques to cope with them. After all, she grew up that way. Funny, how yet another creature managed to find her, out of all the humans, to "love" through pain and hurting. Then again, isn't that what she excelled at too—expressing her deepest love by creating a rent so large the person couldn't survive the ripping apart? A tear so severe she couldn't survive it either? Sometimes it still shocked her to realize she'd done it to both of them—it was like watching someone else act it out, as though she'd been possessed by a mythic beast.

Thoughts of him thrummed through her whenever she was alone now; she was beginning to think the impatient energy she felt all the time, the restlessness, had stemmed from keeping so many emotions about him wedged in her body. Gods…she banged her head hard against the wall…she was missing him again. So many years before her capture, long before this torture began, she'd been living through another kind of recurring torment—aching for Lee Adama.

Pulling out the substantial, mirrored shards Kara had self-embedded in her heart over the past nearly four years, she examined each one in turn. The reflections had been pretty revealing. Going back over the events of her adult life, starting with the Academy, she could see where her heart had wanted to take her, if she could have understood its language. Early on, the Adama name circled around her—William Adama had gained a good measure of fame in military circles for his battle strategy skills, and guest-lectured in a few of her first-year classes. That was before she'd met Zak or Lee; Kara never talked with the elder Adama then, just admired his gutsy creativity in the games of war as he presented his approach to battle plans.

There were also, of course, the well-sung tales about his son Apollo in the Academy, the man who actually lived up to his call sign—wicked in a viper, wicked in bed, wicked in his own battle strategy skills. She hadn't met him in person, though, during her first three years of training. Lee "Apollo" Adama was two years ahead of her class, and he spent his time studying or socializing with other up-and-coming officers—the ones fated to command battlestars one day.

Early in her fourth year, however, after Lee Adama had graduated from Flight School with the highest scores on record at the time and attended the War College on Picon, she'd actually observed some of his practicum lectures when he visited the Academy. Kara was even invited to dinner afterward, with a mixed group of mutual friends, on three occasions.

_Kara just observed him, during the first get-together, as he was sitting at the far end of the table. Lee Adama was so intriguing, even at a distance…those eyes burned an imprint from the moment they flickered across someone's face. And they'd rested on hers quite a few times that first evening, raising her pulse rate even as she focused steadfastly on the friend talking directly across from her. _

_She'd studied his expressions and gestures, out of the corner of her eye, noting when he became animated—talking about flying or the history of great battles—and when he seemed more subdued—usually whenever someone mentioned his father's name. He mimicked the behaviors of those who were more inebriated around him, but Lee was actually sober, in control. He'd mastered the art of nursing a drink, allowing others to believe he was imbibing when in fact Apollo was staying removed from it all. Kara figured Lee was the guy who always walked the too-drunk girl home, or drove the frakked-up friend back to an apartment off campus, or stopped the fist fight before the MPs got involved. Apollo the leader, in word and deed, on or off-duty…_

_That had been the slippery slope, the intense curiosity suddenly possessing her, driven by a desire to experience what Lee Adama was like when he was really off-duty and on the edge of losing control. Once the craving made itself known, she wanted to satisfy it, pursuing her quest like a mission from the gods. Only it wasn't…it was more primal than that, and more ineffable at the same time. A certain fatalness had swept through her in the moment of commitment, when she decided she would attend Lee Adama's next lecture and sit beside him at the dinner surely to follow. Drunk and a little scared she might ruin her plan by talking to him now, unprepared, Kara stood up to leave as soon as the check was paid. Looking back to catch one more glimpse of those incredible cheekbones, she was surprised to lock eyes with Apollo. He gazed intently, smiling with a warmth that seemed to ignite a powerful force in her soul. She forgot the presence of everyone else. Kara focused on keeping her mouth closed, her head cocked slightly, with an enigmatic smile on her face that tended to make men weak in the knees. If the look worked on him, he wasn't showing it…except for the brief, slight hollowing out of his cheeks. Her eyes sparkled; she'd found Lee's first "tell," something that would come in handy to remember later. _

"_Thanks for coming tonight, Starbuck." He moved for a split-second, as if to stand, but appeared to think better of it and remained sitting in a casual stance. _

_Impressive—he'd asked someone what her call sign was and remembered it. Kara decided the most intriguing thing she could do in response would be to say nothing. She nodded to him, smiling more widely to let her eyes reveal the twinkle she felt in her bones, then turned and exited the restaurant._

_At the next guest lecture, two months later, Kara selected an audience seat outside of Lee Adama's direct line-of-sight, wanting to study him further. He was at ease speaking in front of people, which struck her as odd, given the descriptions others had provided of the man—that he was formal, "wound tight," fairly reticent. Discussing a viper squadron maneuver Apollo had just created, which was being tested at the Picon military base—as he was explaining how the approach would create an element of surprise in the middle of a dogfight—Kara surveyed the audience's response. Eyes were riveted on Lee, following his sweeping gestures in demonstration, and laughter erupted easily when he shared his self-deprecating humor. There was something about Apollo that commanded attention, an energy that compelled others to listen. _

_As Lee continued his presentation, laying out the war game workshop results forming the basis for an upcoming battlestars exercise, Kara could see the people in the room were just as engaged as when the lecture began ninety minutes earlier. It reminded her of the elder Adama's talks—clearly, the son had inherited many talents from the father. The gestures, the speech cadence, the passion in his voice—Lee and William Adama were similar in they way they captivated an audience. Where they differed…the way Lee's gaze could make her feel safe and agitated all at once. And there it was—he was staring at her—she knew the moment it happened because that flushed feeling washed over her and her pulse rate picked up with a jolt. She held his look, not wanting to break the connection. He broke out a dazzling grin, before turning back to the rest of the audience to make his closing statements._

_Sarah "Lightning" Grover hurried over to Kara afterward, as soon as the people began standing. "Starbuck! You're coming to dinner with us, right?" There was a mischievousness in her tone. _

"_Yeah, of course! With one condition: you make sure I get to sit next to the 'man of honor.' "_

"_He thought you'd never ask." _

"_What? I mean…is that what you came over to tell me?" Kara was surprised and a little giddy. Frak that—gods, how could she be having one of those "girl" moments?_

"_Yeah, actually. So let's go, Starbuck—I know you're gonna want a couple of shots of the good stuff beforehand." Lightning grabbed Kara's arm, pulling her towards the side door. The air was brisk, with a light wind that made cheeks ruddy and fingers icy. They walked quickly to the restaurant,_ The Tyrillium High

_The booth was circular; Kara slid towards the middle from the left side of the arc, with Lightning right behind. Just as she finished the second shot, Apollo walked in and waved in response to Sarah's upheld arm. Kara would swear she saw his cheeks hollow out as he recognized her. The "Lee" spell started again—wicked gaze, pulse racing, lethal smile. Damn him! As hoped, Lee scooted over towards Kara, ensconced to her left. _

"_Hey, Starbuck…Lightning." The scent of Apollo's skin struck Kara's notice first—it was a mixture of cologne and natural musk, with a whiff of tyrillium—all of which left her feeling slightly dizzy. Kara fought the impulse to lean in and bury her face in the crook of his neck—it felt so instinctual, as though it was her fate to be always that close to this man. Want suddenly surged between her legs. She shifted her weight, biting her lower lip lightly. _

"_Great shooting from the mouth tonight, hotshot—the audience loved you, as usual." Sarah laughed as she said the words. " 'Course, it doesn't hurt that the room was 60 women…"_

"_Gods, Lightning—how you exaggerate!" He was blushing, with that endearing grin, eyes cast down slightly._

"_Well, at least they don't have 'I love you' written across their eyelids—that happened to Major Jenson, you know. He stuttered for five minutes after he saw the girl in question flash her 'expressive' brown eyes at him."_

"_It's hard to believe military cadets would do something that—" Kara blurted out._

"_What—that 'female?' Yeah, I'd have to agree—but from the descriptions of him, he'd bring that side out in you…" As Lightning spoke, she observed Apollo couldn't seem to take his eyes off Starbuck._

"_Not in me—no way!" Kara shook her head firmly. Sarah smacked her arm, eliciting a startled yelp._

"_I didn't mean 'you,' as in Kara, I meant it as the more general 'you'—people, well women, in general! Gods, let's get you another shot, blondie—you're a little too concrete tonight." Lightning smirked as she stuck her hand up to wave the waiter over. It was rare to see Starbuck rattled—Lee Adama was definitely having an effect, a big one._

"_So, Starbuck, what did you think of the squadron maneuver—ready to try it out?" Lee was clearly eager to change the subject._

"_Sure—it's a saucy move. Though I think you need to consider a different flight pattern for the inner core of three vipers." _

_Lee couldn't mistake the challenge in her voice. "Do tell,_ cadet_ Thrace."_

_Kara warmed to the opportunity, happy for the distraction from Lee's neck. "Well, I think a five-viper 'light bend' formation would work more effectively—since you asked. Then, when you do the flip, you can cover the three, six, and nine positions as well, maneuvering the outer vipers a few degrees off, giving a better line-of-target shot at the enemy. I'd even suggest trying the sequence vertical to the enemy ship—full-side-surface attacks create substantial damage; you might take out an entire basestar in that sort of execution." Her voice was confident and even, with a strong hint of swagger in it. Until she looked into Lee's eyes and saw the flash of fire there, before his pride transformed into a sense of inadequacy. Frak. Frak. She'd embarrassed him, and the energy he radiated suddenly pulled away from her, causing her to shiver. It was as though the actual warmth of the sun had been diminished by a large cloud. Kara winced as Lightning's foot lobbed her right shin underneath the table, removing all doubt Kara had just screwed up._

"_How the frak did the three of you get here before us?" It was Tom Warren, call sign "Musket." Five cadets were with him. Chatter suddenly filled the space, as the six additional people made themselves comfortable in the booth, cracking jokes and grabbing waiters for drinks and food orders. _

"_Guess we're in better shape, Musket—we can out-walk your asses, let alone out-run them." Apollo had answered him, turning completely away from Kara. The conversation for the evening picked up from there; the camaraderie between the cadets and the graduates—Lee and Tom—was infectious, and the energy emanating from Lee restored to its former levels. It just didn't radiate in Kara's direction for the rest of the night. She listened intently as the two men regaled the group with Academy, Flight School, and War College stories, laughing along with the rest. Inside, she felt anything but light-hearted. Lee's nearness was a big distraction; it had been a mistake to sit next to him. Pinned in, Kara couldn't leave to hit the head, exit early, or easily engage in conversation with those sitting on the other side of Apollo. She was struggling with concentration, forcing her to remain fairly silent, which increased her restlessness. The only thing left to do was drink—and she opted to drink with abandon. Lightning kept shooting dirty looks her way, trying to give Kara the hint to lay off the liquor at this point in the evening, but she steadfastly ignored the glares. _

_Three hours passed. Kara felt cramped. She needed to stretch, hit the head in the worst way, and get the hell out of there. Nudging Lightning roughly, Kara asked to get out of the booth. Sarah eyed her friend skeptically. Whispering in her ear, she offered to help Starbuck walk to the head, so she wouldn't stumble. Reluctantly, Kara agreed. No need to add to the awkwardness of the evening._

" '_Kay, guys, time to move your drunk asses out of this booth—Starbuck and I need to get away from all this cock-walk talk."_

_Groans could be heard as people shuffled across. Wrapping an arm around Kara's waist, firmly gripping her, Sarah used her hip to provide Kara balance as they made their way towards the bathroom. Amazingly, Kara kept up without looking like she was ready to fall forward, and they reached the hallway without mishap, now out of the party's line of sight. After they'd done their business, Lightning cornered Kara near the sinks._

"_Starbuck, what the hell's gotten into you? You can't take your eyes off the guy, he can't take his eyes off you, and yet you have to cut off his balls in the first five minutes of actual conversation! His whole body vibrates—he is dying to touch you—but he's not going to give you a chance to knock him down another peg or two."_

"_I know, frak it all, I know, Lightning. I didn't mean to…I guess I wanted to show my skills too. I'm probably gonna break his record in Flight School—I wanted him to see I was a worthy successor…" Kara leaned against the wall, her head spinning. It didn't make much sense at all, saying it out loud now…_

"_Look, I'm pretty sure the man's coming back to campus one more time this semester. If you still have an interest in him by then, and you agree to let me coach you through the next encounter, I'll try to make sure we all get together for dinner. And you'll have to agree to wear something besides your uniform or fatigues." Sarah smiled, relieved to be able to vent some of her frustration over Kara's lack of grace during the evening._

"_As long as you don't make me write something mushy on my eyelids, we'll be fine." Starbuck chortled. "Look, I can make it home—go back and enjoy the time with Musket. I know you're nursing a crush on him. Go show 'em how it's done, when a girl tries charm instead of castration."_

"_Are you sure, Starbuck? I mean, you really hit the bottle…I worry about you making it home in one piece."_

"_Gee, Sarah, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm the godsdamned boxing champ in intramurals—I can 'drunk-box' with the best of them." Laughter came from Sarah's throat, warm and comforting. "Okay, okay, you've convinced me. I should know better than to worry about the great Starbuck. I'll get you out the restaurant door; we're only two blocks from the dorm."_

"_Thanks—really."_

_Kara had gotten about a block when she realized someone was close behind her. Spinning around, she saw a fourth-year cadet, Harmon "JumpJump" Drasting, approaching rapidly. "Well if it isn't Starbuck. Star-buck. I hear you 'buck' a man for all he's worth. I've been meaning to see if that's true…"_

_Kara knew she was in trouble. Harmon had been making passes at her all semester, since they'd been paired up in the astro-engineering lab class, and he was a persistent bastard. He didn't understand the meaning of the word "no," or "no way in hell"—she'd tried both._

"_Stay the frak away, Jump, or I'm going to start screaming loud enough for the MPs to come running." She started racing down the sidewalk, hoping to reach the guard by the dorm, but her balance failed, and she felt herself fall forward, her chin smashing into the pavement. Harmon was above her; she shook her head, trying to stop the dizziness and pain from overtaking her. On instinct, she attempted to roll to the side to jab a foot between his legs. He caught her in mid-movement, however, and yanked her ankle hard enough to sprain it. Reaching down, grabbing Kara by her hair and the clothing near her neck, he heaved her body up. After shoving her back into a tree far from the street light, he pinned her arms away from her body and started rutting his hard-on roughly against her crotch, grunting in her ear. Unmitigated terror gripped Kara; she struggled against him, but her body wouldn't cooperate—the alcohol in her blood was beating out the adrenaline trying to kick in. Harmon lifted off her for a brief moment and used both hands to twist her arms awkwardly behind her back before he shoved her roughly against the tree once more, crushing her chest. He covered her mouth with one hand and used the other to shove down her pants, fingers groping to gain access inside her. Kara attempted to bite Harmon's hand as she heard the sound of ripping seams and felt his fingers hit their target, scraping her raw._

"_Cadet. Let go of her. Now!" The voice resonated between the buildings, as the sound of rapid footsteps could be heard approaching. Kara seized the moment of distraction to bite Harmon's hand a second time, and it was hard enough to finally force him to shift his weight; she managed to get some distance from the tree, struggling to regain her breath. She saw a man in an officer's uniform reach for the cadet at the back of his neck, hauling him into the light. In shock, Kara realized it was Lee Adama; anger gripped his face and he appeared ready to choke the man with his bare hands. In a fluid movement, Apollo swung his fist into the side of Harmon Drasting's head, using calculated force to knock him unconscious._

"_Kara…Kara, are you alright?" Lee moved away from the prone figure, stepping towards her, still in the darkness._

"_Yeah…yeah. I…gods…Lee, if you hadn't…"_

_Lee moved closer, gingerly putting his hands around her shoulders. "Well, I was here—I wanted to make sure you made it home safe."_

_Kara laughed slightly, as Lee's eyebrows went up in surprise. "I had figured out you were that kind of guy—the one who helped the too-drunk girls back to their dorms—I just hadn't thought I'd be one of them." Her countenance wavered, as the smile transformed into a pained expression. Apollo knew she was flashing back to the events of a few minutes ago. He gently cupped her face with his right hand. "Hey, Starbuck, hey—look at me. You're okay now; we're gonna talk to the MP outside the dorm, and he'll take care of cadet…cadet—"_

"_Drasting. Harmon Drasting." She was caught in his gaze; even in the near dark, he seemed to be able to envelop her with those eyes. Kara felt a light pressure on the back of her head, as Lee's hand slipped around her neck, pulling her gently towards him. She leaned forward, knowing nothing would feel better than this man's arms wrapped around her. As her cheek touched his uniform, her eyes glimpsing his chin, she felt the warmth of his breath into her hair and inhaled the scent, that amazing smell of him. Despite the abject fear of minutes ago, somehow this person—the man she'd insulted earlier this evening—was comforting her. It was more than the kindness of a stranger; it was as though they'd already formed a connection over years. Closing her eyes, Kara allowed herself the rare experience of leaning on another person for support, letting Lee's energy flow into her body, giving her the strength to get her feet back under her. _

_Too soon, it felt, Lee had cleared his throat and whispered, "let's go talk to the MP and get you inside, before that cadet regains consciousness." Kara nodded, pulling away from Apollo. _

"_Thank you. I really owe you one." She squeezed his hand quickly before stepping to the sidewalk and walking towards her building. She had to hold her pants at the waist, to keep them from falling down as they talked to the MP, who called for reinforcements and took Drasting to the infirmary. Lee helped Kara reach her room afterward; she'd sobered up, somewhat, but was still unsteady on her feet._

_Kara remembered the intense sensation sweeping through her at the very end of that night. She had unlocked the door, turning to Lee to say good-bye. He was standing so near she pressed her back into the door itself. His mouth seemed to be hovering over hers, as if he was aching to kiss her, but he appeared to be holding back, no doubt thinking the act would be inappropriate, especially under the circumstances. She stared at his lips, wondering what he tasted like, wishing she had the courage to make the first move; Kara understood she'd be crossing a line with an officer, though, and suddenly it actually mattered what this man thought of her._

"_Are you sure you're okay? I could go get Lightning…" He was whispering again._

"_I'm fine, Lee. Truly. I'm sorry you had to get involved in something like this—I really should have asked for an escort, considering…the events of the evening." She was getting lost in that depth of blue again, damnit—it was time to turn the handle, slip inside before—before—_

"_I'll be back in six weeks for my last lecture. Come see me again. Please."_

"_I will, Lee Adama. Thank you again for everything." His lips were so close, so inviting. Gods. The door opened, her weight swinging it back far enough for her to step into her room. She finally broke the contact, smiling briefly before she let the darkness drown out her features as she shut the door. Standing in the inky blackness, no light coming in from the windows, Kara realized she was shivering. Knowing it wouldn't stop until she found a way to still her blood and relax her mind, she headed for the shower. Forty minutes later, Kara was finally sleepy enough to fall into her rack, the name "Lee" escaping her lips as she slipped into oblivion. _

Coming out of her reverie, Kara looked to the window in the detention "apartment" and recognized dusk was settling in. Sighing heavily, she moved to the couch to pull out her weapon of choice, hidden in a carved hole of the cushion. Tonight, Starbuck had decided, she was going to kill the son of a bitch a third time, buying herself a little space between the mental and physical beatings. She needed to let her body rest, see if she could manage to breathe and sleep simultaneously—her ribs were mercilessly reminding her of their predicament. Leoben would be back, of course—the demon would download and return, just like the recurring, living nightmare he was for her. In the meantime, though, Kara might be able to escape into her dreams, catch enough REM sleep to prevent her from going mad altogether.

Kara could hear the door open, and Leoben's footsteps as he sauntered down the stairs, calling out to her like a husband coming home from work. Kara silently pushed aside his words—he wasn't going to have a chance to hurt her tonight. As he entered the sitting area, she walked up to him, arms loose at her sides. She kept her face still, so as to give nothing away. Without preamble, she threw her body around him, hugging him, and predictably, he instinctively embraced her too, thinking some breakthrough was being reached. Certain his guard was down, Kara gracefully dropped the sharpened porcelain vase shard from her sleeve into her palm, raking it hard across Leoben's throat to tear his carotid artery in two. An immensely satisfying spurt of blood gushed over her shoulder and across her arm, as he gurgled before slumping to the floor. The bastard fell forward with a pleasurable thump against the rug. Staring at his motionless body for a few minutes, making certain he was as dead as she could hope for in the moment, Kara abruptly realized she was now shaking violently, her body rapidly becoming teeth-chatteringly cold. On impulse, she thought of a long hot shower, so she could try to calm her nerves and come back into herself. Stepping into the strong pulsating stream, Kara studied the water pooling around her feet, blood mingling in the drain below, unable to eliminate the feeling of disorientation. After a full sixty minutes, Kara finally believed she was a little better. Toweling off, Starbuck reached for the robe hanging on the door, grimacing anew as her ribs protested the movement. Maybe she should try to sleep sitting up for now, leaning against the headboard; it wasn't ideal, but it might be better than lying prone, risking pneumonia.

Settled in the bed, pillows behind her and an extra blanket across her legs, Kara drew her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against her crossed arms. She wondered, in a detached way, if she could regain a sound mind after this was over. Bitterly, she doubted it might ever end. Stubbornly, deep in the back of her mind, Kara refused to believe he wouldn't come to rescue her—Apollo, God of the life-giving sun. Even though she'd destroyed his heart in the past, he always returned to animate her soul, give her his sacred breath. She didn't deserve his love, nor the strength he used to sustain her—but he would offer these once more. Maybe, just maybe, if she had any sanity left by then, she'd finally figure out how to return the favor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

William Adama was enjoying watching Laura sleep. She smiled, sometimes, dreaming, and her lips would part slightly, as though she were going to speak. They were laying on canvas pallets against the floor, holed up in the inner communications room, for privacy; it was the eighth time, since the Occupation, Laura had dared to be away from her tent overnight. He was counting each evening, the newness of the experiences a marvel to him. Bill was captivated by the sensations of being with Roslin, free from the constraints of the past. They talked and strategized together almost daily, worked side-by-side pouring over Zarek's intel, and mapped out tactical details for the next weeks and possibly months. Sleeping next to Laura, though—that was the most precious and meaningful part of his new life. Despite the dangers of the present and the obvious fears affecting everyone, Bill secretly acknowledged he was happy—more full of life than he thought possible only a few short weeks ago.

He struggled with his conscience in one area, however: the mystery of Maya and Isis. In asking a few innocent questions of Maya, he'd learned about the adoption, Tory and Laura's involvement, and Roslin's sustained interest in the child's well-being. The adoption alone raised unsettling questions in Bill's mind; while Laura was compassionate and often chose to become involved in affairs of civilians, this interaction had clearly exceeded the boundaries of a President. She had personally interviewed Maya and insisted on remaining in contact with the mother over time. Laura had even re-located the woman to New Caprica, convincing her to become a part of the daily routines of the school. While these actions did not seem to raise concerns in Maya's eyes—apparently, she took the help at face value—Bill knew better. The real issue was that he wasn't sure he wanted to know more. Each time he touched the ideas floating in his head surrounding the little girl, that sense of dread returned, forcing him to back off. Right now, Bill wanted to hold onto his happiness—their happiness—and he had a sickening feeling the truth behind Laura's attachment to Maya and Isis would upend the fragile joy Adama knew he and Roslin were clinging to.

A knock on the door caused Laura to stir, and Bill stood up to find out who was there. Sharon spoke to him, softly, explaining Sam, Galen, and Tom had arrived; something had happened, and the leadership group should convene now. Bill nodded, asking for three minutes; he closed the door, helped Laura stand, and grabbed a few food bars and water for both of them. Roslin quickly dressed, dragged the pallets to the side, and opened the door to motion Tory to begin bringing in the chairs and table.

"What's happened, Tom?" Laura was anxious.

"Baltar overdosed on something—a drug called Lethe—and he's in a coma. He's expected to recover, but the Cylon 'cabinet' wants to transfer the office of the Presidency to me, since they seem to think Gaius is addicted to the substance and can't be trusted to function in a leadership position." Zarek's body language was clear; he was disturbed at this turn of events, and did not want to become more involved.

"Sharon, do you know anything about 'Lethe'?" Adama wondered if the Cylons had deliberately given the drug to Baltar to achieve certain goals.

"It's frowned upon by most Cylons. A few claim it has properties to intensify the effect of our bio-organism/machine interface—what you might refer to as a 'hallucinatory high.' Since Cylons view drug-induced mental states to be evolutionarily backward, nearly all reject the use of a substance like Lethe."

Laura fixed her gaze on Sharon. "Is it possible the 'cabinet' wanted Baltar incapacitated? How does it affect a human who doesn't have a biological/machine interface?"

"Clearly, since a Cylon would have to provide the drug to Baltar, it is very likely the actions were intentional. I can't tell you how a human would react to Lethe—there weren't previously subjects to test."

"Except on Caprica, Sharon—they 'tested' a lot of things on us down there." Sam remembered all too well the stories Kara had brought back from The Farm.

"I know what you're referring to, Sam, but those experiments served a purpose, from the Cylon point of view. Studies of Lethe's effects would not." Sharon often questioned how she ended up suffering through these incessant interrogations regarding Cylon motives and plans. She had to provide information without appearing to condone Cylon actions, and Sharon often felt the humans took out the brunt of their frustrations on her, as though she made the decisions, not an entire species.

Bill noted the pain and anger crossing Sharon's features; it was time to interject. "I think we can safely assume the Lethe creates some sort of altered mental state in humans as well. I don't believe we need to understand more than that to deal with the matter really at hand—should Tom comply with the Cylons' directive?"

Roslin was quick to answer. "I think it serves an important purpose for us, so yes—Tom must agree to the Cylons' plan."

Zarek's temper flared; he was exhausted by the recurring emotional battle with Laura over the past. She trusted Tom on some levels, but a part of her clearly wanted revenge for the loss of the Presidency to Baltar and to him. "Roslin, let's hear from the others in the group. It's obvious to everyone where you stand—and why."

"Look, you pursued the office, you wanted the power—you need to man up to the consequences!" Bill startled; he hadn't heard that bitter tone of voice with her before. The sarcasm and derision on her face made Laura look petty, even a bit tyrannical.

"Roslin!" She turned to Adama, and the horror in his eyes made her recoil. Unable to reign in all of her disgust, she nonetheless gestured to the others in the room to voice their opinions.

Galen spoke up. "Admiral, while I see Laura's point, it's dangerous for Tom. He'll have to go along with a lot of ... of things that would make us all cringe. That'll make Zarek a target—the settlers will blame him and want blood, or the Cylons will sense Tom's reluctance and lock him up in the detention center. Either way, we run a real risk of losing him altogether, and we need him out here, on the front line, helping us." Sam nodded vehemently in agreement, as did Tory and Sharon. Laura looked as though she might slug one of them.

Adama sensed the tensions in the room were at a breaking point; they needed to get past the emotional components and focus on the actions needed for survival. "Tom, I sense your reluctance to take such a step, and I certainly can't blame you. What were your thoughts on how this should really play out?"

Tom looked surprised Bill had addressed the question to him—and relieved. "Thank you, Admiral, for asking. To be honest, I don't want to do this at all—"

Roslin glared at Zarek, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Tom held up his hand, signaling she should put the non-verbal weapons down. "That being said—" he looked straight at Laura before shifting his gaze to Adama, "—I concede there are tactical advantages which must be factored into the decision. I deeply appreciate Galen's vote of confidence, and the others…and I have to hope each of you will remember, in taking this role on, I am **not **condoning the acts of the Cylons, no matter how it appears in the times ahead…" Tom's voice caught; Bill realized he was emotionally distraught at the thought of what he'd face next.

"You can count on us, Tom. We realize it's going to be dangerous…take a lot out of a person's soul. Your sacrifices will not be in vain; I pledge that to you now." He put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Well, here's your first test, then. Cavil told me—" Zarek struggled to say the next statement out loud. An exhausted sigh rasped through his teeth. "—he told me my first act as President will be to establish the Cylon God's 'temple,' and command the people of the colonies to attend religious services there." Zarek closed his eyes as he managed the last words; it was too much to have to look at the faces of his friends as he shared the news.

Sam whistled his shock; Sharon looked down at the floor, while Galen, Laura, Tory, and Bill all shifted in their seats, hands clasped tightly in laps or arms locked in protection against the invisible enemy of the unknown.

"Are they planning on…removing…our temples? Will the people still be able to worship…" Laura was very pale.

"For now, the settlers' temples and freedom to worship remain. Cavil claims they are acting as missionaries do—in exchange for building equipment, shelter, and utilities, they demand we give them access and time with our people to expose them to the one true 'God.' Since their God wants followers who commit hearts of their own accord, Cavil insists the Cylons will not 'force' the belief system on the settlers—merely 'expose them' to the right path, for their souls' salvation."

"What do the machines know about souls and salvation?" To Roslin, every time she thought about the billions of humans dead, it was hard to fathom these things actually believed they had human qualities like a soul. It would imply they had other qualities—like compassion, the ability to love…

Too late, Laura realized she had just insulted Sharon again, and by implication Bill. "…my apologies, Lieutenant Agathon; I still struggle with…I meant…well, I'm sure you can understand what I was thinking about."

Bill relaxed a little in his chair as Sharon tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"Can we all agree to focus solely on what the Cylons are saying and doing right now, rather than speculating on motivations or the meaning of existence? We've got some tangible issues to deal with here." It was Tom; he had no wish to continue to sit through these tension-filled exchanges between Sharon, Laura, and Bill, especially as he considered the months ahead.

"Yes, of course, Tom. You're quite right, as is Bi—Admiral Adama. Focus on present Cylon actions." Roslin was beginning to understand how she was coming across to the others; it was time to remember how act presidential, even if she wasn't in the office.

"Tom, given our present circumstances, I don't see what options we have for the time being. If there's a way to get informal messages to the settlers, so they understand it's better to cooperate for now—" The Admiral was ready to end this present conversation; the process of continually raising new issues was getting on his nerves.

"Sir—Sam, Tory, and I can take care of that. We've got the printing press—" Galen pointed to a stack of boxes along one wall in the communications room—"we can spread the word. It's gonna raise questions, though—some will be ready to start resisting, want to start sending a message to our 'saviors.' "

"Tell them…tell them there will be a time and place, not far off." Roslin was speaking again.

"Yes, ma'am. By the way, the first target and demolition plans are almost ready to go."

Sharon caught Bill's eye as Galen laid out the details. Despite his comments early on about the former military going soft, she was pretty sure he wasn't comfortable with the resistance actions coming in just another week. The Admiral apparently wasn't comfortable expressing his shifting perspective either; his face was unreadable for the moment. In fact, he said very little during the remainder of the conversation.

Laura made her requests to Tom for additional data; the details for the propaganda printing had been hashed out; they all discussed current supply stocks for the settlers in the city. Finally, most of the group stood to leave and make their way back to specified gathering points, where they were expected to show up for their 14-hour shifts. Galen was assigned to utility development, currently an electrical generator subsystem; Sam had been tasked with building the framing and foundations for Cylon headquarters; Tory had returned, with Laura, to teaching at the school. The women had managed to convince the Cylon 'cabinet,' with Tom's help, that Ellen was also necessary on the teaching staff.

"How's Ellen doing these days?" Bill asked Tory.

"Well, she's a 'dynamic' teacher, I'll give her that." Tory smiled. "She's continually anxious; she cries for Colonel Tigh every day; she hates the living conditions on New Caprica, especially the cold. But honestly, Sir, I would say she's making a concerted effort to contribute and not become a burden. Given what I knew of the woman before the Occupation, I think she deserves real credit for how she's conducting herself. I'm willing to bet she'll insist on helping us distribute the printed materials to the settlers, despite the obvious danger in being caught."

Bill raised an eyebrow; this certainly didn't describe the Ellen Tigh he had known. "Please give her my thanks for her hard work, Tory—and keep her safe. I wouldn't want to face Saul's wrath…"

"Of course, Sir. She stays pretty close to me when we walk about; we'll be fine."

"I appreciate your hard work too, Tory." She bowed her head slightly in response, then gathered up her coat to make her way back.

It was then Bill noticed Sam sitting in his chair, obviously waiting for the room to clear before speaking to Adama. He examined the young man for a moment, and as he took in Sam's condition, real worry set in. Anders was pale and appeared to be fighting another fever. Although Sam hadn't coughed often over the past several hours, Bill saw he was laboring for breath, and was physically weak—too weak to be covering a construction zone in the freezing rain and biting winds.

"Sam, have you seen a medic? Aren't the Cylons offering any medical support?"

"Yeah, they have a few 'medical' personnel, but they haven't had to deal with human 'limitations,' as the toasters put it. With virtually no illnesses in the Cylon population, to speak of, antibiotics and anti-virals aren't exactly medications that have been needed. The 'cabinet' claims they have Cylons working on the pharmaceutical development, but it will take some time. Meanwhile…" and he gestured down his body—"this is the reality for me and some of the other settlers."

"I wish there was more I could do, Sam—I'll try to talk to Tom about it, when we meet next. Won't they at least let you rest a few days? You shouldn't be out in the elements."

"Toasters aren't affected by much, so they don't understand 'resting.' Thanks for your concern, Sir…really. I didn't come to talk about myself, though—I wanted to—"

"—Talk about Kara."

"Yeah. I have a very bad feeling about her, about what's happening to her. I'm wracked with worry, and it keeps me from sleeping."

"Which all just holds you back from healing…"

"Look, we've got to do something. As soon as possible. It's not just that I can't lose her…_we_ can't lose her. I don't put much stock in the gods or priestess mumbo-jumbo, but I _know_—know, in my gut—Kara's key to finding Earth. Sharon's said as much—the Cylons realize the same thing. That's why they've got her. But Leoben, man, he's…he's obsessed, he's missing marbles, he's…unpredictable. Worse, he's uncanny in his sense of someone's weak points. He doesn't have to physically kill her—he'll just break her. And we won't be able to pull her back from the abyss."

Adama sat down next to Sam, putting his hand on the man's back as a sign of support. "I know we've assumed she's in the detention center—any idea of where? Maybe, as part of the planned resistance strike, we could find a way to take advantage of the distraction to—"

"To get her the hell out of there. Yeah, that's the idea buzzing in my mind too."

"Can you make it back here later, after your shift and a few hours sleep? We need Sharon to make this plan work."

"I'll get here. I…thank you, Sir. Thank you."

"Don't miss your shift, Sam, but try to see the Cylon medic again and ask for a few days' leave. The rescue won't come off if you're too weak to scale the wall." Bill grinned as he said it, but he felt the pressure of tears behind his temples. Anders was a likeable guy, committed to Kara and putting his back into a cause. It was painful to consider…the worst.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gaius opened his eyes, aware of the pulsing heat of the sun bringing a sensual warmth to his skin. He could feel her hands in his hair, caressing his forehead, massaging his scalp. Oh, yes, this was pleasure. Looking up, he gazed into Vivian's eyes—she leaned forward to kiss him deeply. He felt himself get hard immediately, and he grasped her face with both hands for better leverage as he let his tongue savor her taste. It led to wanting other tastes of her; he sat up, pulling her in front of him, lifting a luscious calf onto the chaise where he'd been resting. Certain he'd have free access now, he eagerly lifted up her dress, sliding her panties down far enough for his tongue to have its way. Vivian moaned as he picked up speed and employed his fingers to penetrate her, relishing her wetness against his skin. She gasped as she came around his hand, and he felt the pressure becoming painful as his shaft twitched in anticipation. Gods, he had to be inside her…

Relaxing in the bed afterward, remembering the intensity of his climax only moments before, Gaius had a goofy grin plastered on his face. Vivian, lying on her stomach next to him, laughed softly. "What's this, Gaius—giddiness? Enjoying your vacation from the outer world?"

"Oh, indeed I am. It's because of you, Vivian—you realize that, don't you? I found a way for us to be together."

"Now, Gaius…" Vivian sensually moved her lips. "You realize you sound like a mad scientist… I'm not even really here."

"You're more bloody real than any woman I've ever known, Vivian—"

"Which is saying something—yes, I'm aware."

"I'm besotted with you, my vivacious vixen," Gaius uttered playfully. Suddenly, he sat up, pulling her with him. Arms wrapped around that graceful chest, legs over his own, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, Baltar whispered, "I'm in love with you. You may not mock that, whatever else you do—I've not given my heart to anyone, until now, and I insist you treat that with seriousness."

He felt her head shake slightly in affirmation. Leaning slightly back, wrapping her long fingers around his striking cheekbones, she stared deeply into his eyes. "I'm in love with you too. I wouldn't still be here otherwise…" a tear slid unexpectedly down her face.

"Nor would I. Nor would I. They keep trying to rouse me—out there—" he stuck his arm out, waving it around, for emphasis. "But I could care less about getting back. Nothing for me…no need for my skills…no value."

"That's where you're wrong, my love. Look at me—" she held his head firm in front of her—"Gaius, you must listen. While I wish for nothing more than days at this beautiful home, with this incredible vista, frolicking with you, there are important tasks ahead." Baltar looked away from her, grabbing her hands to try to release the grasp. She reasserted her position, pulling him into her eyes again.

"I understand why this isn't what you wanted. I feel what you feel, so I've experienced the coldness with them, the isolation—not knowing where you belong. Neither the humans or the Cylons appreciate the significance of that amazing mind, the secrets you can unlock for all of them. I know how painful it is. Nonetheless, Gaius, it will soon be time to take the next steps in your path."

"Which are…" he was exasperated and a little afraid. It seemed simple to remain in this space.

"There's no reason for you to stay in your current role as President—no power left to use in the title. You'll get back to your first love, Gaius—"

"Which is you, Vivian—"

"—flattery, the best kind, but untrue. Your true passion is science—it always has been. The time has come, at last, to embrace your vocation again. The steps in your path: relinquish the Presidency, then request access to a laboratory."

"A laboratory—are you bonkers? On this rock? Vivian, you—"

"Shut up, foolish man! Now!" He slumped his shoulders, the wind knocked out by the force of her demand.

"There are labs in the Cylon headquarters. Offer to help the Cylons understand human physiological constraints and develop the core medicines that humans need because of their inadequate immune systems."

Wh—you mea—oh, you can't be serious. 'Secrets I can unlock for all of them'—you're clearly mad. I have no passion for pharmacology—I couldn't stand it! I'm not going to be relegated again to a lab with endless days of monotony—the debacle of the 'Cylon detector' tests was more than enough experience with that level of boredom, thank you very much!"

Vivian stroked his hair. "Shhh, Gaius, Shhh. You can be so excitable…"

"Don't patronize me."

"Tsk, Tsk, Gaius—so hostile. No one said you'd have to spend your time on the drugs…although, one could argue, you're already doing that…" she smiled wickedly.

"Ha, ha. Get on with it. What would I really be doing, then, in the lab? Playing with rodents?"

"Genomics. Isn't that what you focused on first, before AI, before bioengineering?"

"Genomics—which species?"

"Well, both, silly man—both. Human and Cylon. Hybrids. Evolutionary paths. Nanotechnology. Playing God—with God's permission, of course." She grinned, eyebrow cocked.

"Why can't I just start with that path first, then, skip the boring pharma—"

She slammed her fist into his cheek, roughly. He fell back on the bed from the force of it, uncertain if his cheekbone might be broken. He kept his eyes open and focused on her, suddenly afraid of what she would do next. He had clearly taken a wrong turn.

"Gaius Baltar, I've grown tired of this conversation and your sniveling. Follow what I've told you. Exactly. You can't stay in this state forever, and if you don't listen to my guidance, you may wind up dead. Extinct. Solidify your position with the cabinet—offer to work in the lab, formulate the antibiotics, start your research with genomics on the side. Agree. I want to hear you say it."

"Bloody hell…alright. I agree. I agree! Now can we get back to more enjoyable activities? I hear them out there—they're louder now, and I'm not ready to go back."

"You'll never be ready to go back, Gaius…"

"True. Very true. But I can stay here a while longer, I'm sure of it."

"Yes, my love, but it's becoming more dangerous. Too much longer, and your mind won't recover—you'll end up stuck here, but without me—the worst sort of isolation. Trust me. I won't leave you when you rejoin them; I won't leave your side."

"You must promise, Vivian—promise! I can't face it, face them by myself any longer—it's too painful."

"I know, darling, I know. I promise. Love never fails."

Baltar heard the voices echoing orders, recognized the sound of medical equipment alarms going off. Searing waves of mangled nerve impulses coursed through his body. He resisted opening his eyes, but finally found he was unable to prevent it. Gaius was awake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, Four Weeks After Occupation**

"Push it, Apollo, damnit! Make those muscles remember what they're for! Come on, now...frakkin' push!" Kat was barking in Lee's ear, as he clenched his jaw and forced the 100-pound bar up. Twelve reps…thirteen reps…

"Good, soldier, good. Now get up, get in touch with that anger I know you're lugging around, and hammer the punching bag."

Lee groaned. He was tired; the sweat was pouring off him. He hadn't bargained for the ruthlessness of his CAG; once she locked onto a goal, she zeroed in like a heat-seeking missile to make sure the target was destroyed. Ostensibly, that target should be his weight, but sometimes, he wondered if it was supposed to be him instead.

"Man, you couldn't beat a nugget in his first intramural boxing match with that jab! Hit the frakkin' bag like you were ready to break someone's collarbone." Sweat stinging his eyes as he glared over at her, Lee swung hard, causing the bag to swing violently to the right. With a strange cracking noise, the rope affixed to the top split away, and a swacking sound reverberated through the room as the bag hit the floor.

"Now that's what I'm talkin' about—impressive, Commander! I see how to motivate you every day from now on—we'll just tap into that anger every chance we get." She was smirking, hands on her hips, laughter following her words.

From somewhere lost to him until now, a strange sensation emanated from his groin, traveling to his head. It reminded him of metal cable breaking apart from too great a tension, the ragged end of the coil swishing dangerously about. He started laughing with Kat, full-bodied peals. Soon, they were both cackling, causing others to stare. Lee didn't care a whit. Huge sections of iron weight were flying off his chest as the cage compressing his lungs and his heart began falling apart at last. He doubled over, hands on his knees, coughing as he tried to catch his breath between fits of laughter. Kat actually fell to the floor, holding her diaphragm, unable to escape the grip of giddiness.

Finally, Lee stood erect again, feeling lightheaded and wobbly. He stuck a hand out to Kat to help her stand too.

"My face hurts."

"Good. You needed to work those muscles too, soldier..."

"You're….not what I expected, Lieutenant Catraine. I'm really glad you agreed to be my fitness coach."

Kat bowed at the waist. "Here to serve…Sir."

Without forethought, Lee grabbed her as she straightened her back, pulling her into a bear hug. Pushing down her shock, Kat responded, gripping him tightly too. They remained that way for a few moments…two beats too long, actually. Lee abruptly remembered there were people in the room, and pulled away from Kat, surprised he'd lingered in the embrace. He'd meant it collegially, but something compelled him to draw her closer just then…

Kat stepped back, unable to quite look the Commander in the eye. For a minute, she'd experienced this sensation similar to attraction—but that couldn't be. _Get it together, Louanne_…

"Hit the showers; you've got a briefing on recruiting goals for the rescue mission in twenty, Commander."

"Yes I do, Lieutenant. Get the CAP schedule to me by 0900 today."

"Will do, Sir."

Lee moved briskly to the head, deciding the best thing to do was not over-analyze what just happened. Gods, a shower was going to help right about now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Six hours later, Apollo and Helo were en route to Galactica. They discussed the morning's meetings; most of the briefings involved the Rescue Strategy Group, or RSG. The decision-makers in the RSG included the leadership of both battlestars—Adama, Agathon, Dualla, Tigh, Catraine and Edmonson—along with Dr. Cottle, captain Michael Larsen of the Euripides, largest of the civilian ships, and Major Jon Parker, Resources Officer. Major Parker was a member of the original Pegasus crew who had been put in charge of supplies, transports, and inventory for the current fleet.

Separate from the battle plans, which would only be handled by the military leadership, the Commander had realized early on he needed to oversee the other facets of a large-scale rescue and reclamation mission: ship building and repairs; tyrillium refining; military recruitment for pilots and other specialty crews; immediate and long-term reintegration procedures; accurate estimates of food, water, fuel, and related resource needs before and after reintegration. The RSG had been created to define and coordinate all aspects of the mission. A communications consultant had also been included, to ensure information flowed between the appropriate groups and within the fleet.

Acknowledging the formal structure of government didn't exist—established and elected representatives had all been on New Caprica—Lee made a crucial decision to use military rule throughout the fleet, for the time being. Despite his commitment to the principles of democracy, Adama was all too aware of the potentials for conflict, assuming the mission was successful. Civil war might result from the existence of two governmental bodies, and that was a potential development they could ill-afford.

To assuage the real fears among the civilians, Lee held regular broadcast meetings with the captains of the fleet ships, and established a police force separate from the military ranks. The civilian police carried only stun weapons, and patrolled the ships to provide a sense of presence and order; no one wanted to see riots break out over supplies or crime increase due to a lack of organization. So far, the design was working, and there didn't appear to be any grumblings of abuse of military power, much to the Commander's relief.

The trip to Galactica was part of Lee's efforts to ensure the battlestar crews maintained good integration and camaraderie. There were tensions between Colonel Tigh and Lieutenant Dualla; concerns over Tigh's drinking also continued to unnerve the military personnel. Feeling somewhat reinvigorated, as the weight dropped off and the depression fog lifted, Apollo wanted to start extending himself proactively. He was making gradual headway on the Pegasus in regaining credibility and re-establishing his authority. It was time to put some backbone into his management of Galactica as well.

The raptor landed and docked. Tigh and Dualla were there to greet them; Helo immediately walked with the Colonel to inspect the current operational vipers. Apollo had decided, before their arrival, he would face his most intimidating inner demon first by spending some personal time talking to Ana. Lee had seen her in briefings, interacted with her by com, but steadfastly avoided one-on-one interactions. Four weeks had passed; he couldn't duck the issues any longer.

"Good to see you, Dee." It sounded pathetic, but he had to break into the discussion somehow.

"You too, Lee." Awkward silence.

"Why don't we take a walk to the observation deck—it's probably pretty empty this time of shift, and we can sit for a while, maybe—"

"Maybe have a personal conversation? My, Apollo, you are getting braver by the day." The tone was caustic.

"Yeah, a personal conversation, Ana."

"Great." They walked without speaking the rest of the way.

Lee searched for a good spot to have a heart-to-heart—not too cozy, but intimate enough for genuine dialogue. Taking Dee's hand, he walked them over to a set of easy chairs with a coffee table between.

Both of them sat; Dee studied her hands for over five minutes. Finally, Lee took a deep gulp of air and jumped in.

"How have you been, Ana—straight out."

" 'Straight out'—that's new lingo."

"Come on, Ana—nothing's easy right now, but I'm gonna put myself out there—can you try to do the same?"

"Fine. I've been miserable, Lee. Really—what would you expect? My husband walks out on me—"

"I didn't walk out, Dee—I assigned you to another ship."

"And you didn't mean that to be a permanent separation, Lee? What do you take me for? You think no one's noticed you haven't visited me once, or asked me to visit you, since I was ordered to come aboard Galactica again?"

"Could we talk without the accusatory questions for a change? You don't discuss, Ana, you judge and interrogate. It makes it hard to breathe, sometimes."

"Gods. Listen to yourself. It's my fault…what I've done. Please share what you're accountable for—and notice how I phrased that as a request, instead of a question."

Lee rubbed his face. He was starting to wonder how he married this person, this vituperative creature in front of him. _But she wasn't always that way, _his inner voice reminded him—_you gave her cause to twist herself into this._

"Look, I've been a terrible husband. I realize that. Honestly. I could say there are a lot of reasons for it—there are—but fundamentally, I've failed because I couldn't deal with my crap, my baggage. I shouldn't have pulled you into things—"

"You mean, your relationship with Kara?"

"Yes—I mean no—gods, Ana, you are obsessed with her."

'Well, that makes two of us, doesn't it."

"Ooh, touché, Dee. Feel better for that one?"

Her face shifted; the bitterness dropped for a minute, as vulnerability revealed itself through her eyes.

"I'm ... that was uncalled for on my part. I'm sorry."

Lee softened, taking her hand in his own. "It's okay…I understand it. But what's important, Dee, is to figure out if there's something to build on between us right now, in the present. He lifted her chin to study her expression.

"To me, that depends on you, Lee."

He pulled his hand away and let go of her, suddenly standing. "Dee, I swear…do you realize, every time I bring something genuine up, asking a question without expectation or pre-conditions, you turn it back on me, force the decision on me alone?"

He was in front of her, looking frustrated and a little desperate. Dee continued to sit, staring up into his face, saying nothing.

"That's your answer then. Stone silence."

Tears slipped their bonds, dripping onto the coffee table. Dee was at a loss; Apollo was changing again, and she couldn't keep up with the transformations.

At last, she strung enough thoughts together to form a complete thought she could say aloud. "I wanted…we could be happy if—"

Lee sat down again, trying to allow kindness to seep into his features. "Go on…" he said gently.

"…if you'd come back to yourself as an Adama. That's why I married you…your strength, your ethics, your determination—so much like your father."

The color evaporated from Lee's eyes, transforming to a steely grey. "That's the solution…that's always been the answer to the riddle. You wanted to marry my father."

"Gods, Lee, no—how can you even think—what do you take me for?"

Lee shook his head. "It's okay, Dee—I know what you meant. You wanted to spend your life with someone just like William Adama, and it seemed I fit the shoes, walked the talk." His tone was calm, not angry; he was beginning to finally understand why their marriage never had a chance, with or without Kara in his life.

Ana was nodding her head, sobs now surfacing in her chest. "You are like him—you are. Lee, I know you don't want to see it, but you're at your best when you emulate him." Her face appeared child-like.

Slowly Apollo stood again, offering his hand for Ana to help her up too. He pulled her into a hug, talking into her ear in a whisper.

"Thanks, Dee, for telling me the truth. I…you're a good person, and Dad has always been right to trust you. I need to do some soul-searching right now, decide if I'm able to offer anything of value to our relationship."

He pulled back, not looking her in the eye. Tears tumbled down his cheeks.

"Where does that leave us, Lee? I don't understand—"

"We need to officially separate, Anastasia. I don't want to leave you hanging, but neither do I want to commit to you I can embody the person you describe. That Lee…if he ever existed, it was as a projected image, not the real person—not me. I'm sorry. Maybe we can find a way to align in the present…with time. Get to know each other as—"

"I do know you! I just want the real you to come back!" Dee was raising her voice; her heart felt an unbearable pressure as fear pumped into every chamber.

"I'll stop by to say good-bye before we take off, if you want me to—it's a 36-hour stay. Otherwise, I'll see you in the next briefing, with the rest of the RSG."

"Lee, damnit, Lee, don't walk away—"

Apollo continued moving, keeping his back to her. He was certain this was their last intimate conversation as man and wife. It might not be official for a while, but his marriage was over. It had been built on illusions from both sides, and he vowed he would never again settle for a relationship based on anything less than full acceptance of each person as they stood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee spent the rest of the day mingling with the flight crew, the CIC officers, pilots, and the rank and file who made the ship functional. Chit-chat, personal encouragement, hearing out complaints—he progressed through them all. Finally, his feet letting him know he needed to take a load off, Apollo met up with Helo in Tigh's quarters. The men, battle-weary and at loose ends, made a pact to leave everything outside the hatch. The rest of the evening was spent swilling ambrosia, reminiscing about adventures past, and laughing at impersonations of people alive, dead, and status unknown. That night, as Lee flopped into his father's rack aboard Galactica, he inhaled the scent of his father's shaving cream, and cried himself to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	5. Ch 5: Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

Pegasus, six weeks after the occupation:

**Chapter 5: Best-Laid Plans of Mice and Men**

"…_proclaim it...that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart…" William Shakespeare, Henry V_

"_[You've got fire in your veins; burning hot, but you don't feel the pain…" Foreigner, Urgent_

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Seven Weeks After Occupation**

Zarek was seated at the table in his Presidential office on the grounded ship Phygera, waiting for Baltar's arrival. He was still adjusting to his new surroundings and searching for ways to mentally cope with the tension-filled role he now found himself in as the President of the 12 Colonies under Cylon rule.

Eager to avoid the negative associations from Baltar's time in office aboard Colonial One, Tom chose the small ship Phygera for his own residence, a luxury transport vehicle in its previous life. Wealthy socialites had once used these space yachts for solar system jumps on what had been called "solar walkabouts." The original ship owners were preparing for a trip at the time of the Cylon attacks; in exchange for living space on one of the more well-equipped fleet ships, they had "donated" their craft to Galactica, the only vessel with bays large enough for permanent docking.

Many months later, when the people began re-locating to New Caprica, then-President Baltar had appropriated the craft for his personal use, shuttling back and forth. Later, When Colonial One was permanently based on the planet, the Phygera had been used as a "perk"—a bribe, usually—to elicit favors from those in the Quorum or other "connected" individuals. Early in the settlement phase, Gaius had actually tried to convince his then-Vice-President to make the ship into his personal quarters, but Tom had refused, preferring to stay true to his image as a champion for basic rights by living in a tent among the rest of the population. In the present, given the option by the Cylon Cabinet to live in the headquarters complex or on Colonial One—they insisted Tom could not remain in the tent city—Zarek had suggested the Phygera as a compromise. Secretly, the man was relieved his plan had worked; Tom needed to be able to slip out without notice, and the location of the transport vessel put him in the "blind spot" area relative to the Cylon headquarters complex.

Alerted to Baltar's arrival by the perimeter alarm system—Tom had insisted to the Cylon cabinet that guards would be unnecessary and send the wrong signals to the settlers—he stared in dismay at the state of the man entering his office and quarters. Baltar looked strung out and feeble, despite a week in medical and two weeks in the personal residence section of the Cylon Headquarters complex. Tom suspected it was a result of continued drug abuse, although the Cylons insisted the scientist was being watched closely, since his discharge, to prevent a relapse. The scientist had been at work in the laboratory for the past five days.

"I want an update on the status of the antibiotics, Dr. Baltar. I was under the impression you could produce something in a few days. It's been five." Zarek was determined to get his hands on the medication; the number of settlers with serious bacterial diseases was increasing, but Sam's health in particular was precipitously worse, and Tom was genuinely beginning to feel panicked that Anders might die.

Gaius stood up, eyes cast to the floor, his arms twitching almost uncontrollably. He swung them around his chest, hoping to quell the movement, and absently began walking around Zarek's workspace, steadfastly ignoring the man's question.

Looking about, Baltar easily ascertained Tom Zarek had few personal items. The years in prison, followed by life on the Astral Queen, had not provided Tom much opportunity for acquiring things of substance. Somehow, though, Tom had gathered up a few books and keepsakes in the past two years. Baltar noted the few pieces of quality artwork and display cases of historical memorabilia still remained from the vessel's earlier incarnation. Overall, the interior was unassuming and dignified—not the sort of place where one would ever see a self-portrait on the wall—quite unlike Baltar's former residence.

Baltar turned back around to face Zarek. Vivian was sitting next to him at the table.

"_Gaius, he's already figured out what you've been spending your time doing. 'The outer reflects the inner'—you look like crap because you continue to put that poison in your body."_

"The antibiotics. Right. Well, Tom, you see…it's taken some time to find the right titration points, to, um, develop the catalyst, which I need, you see, to ensure the appropriate transition states are achieved, for the reactions to proceed in sequence…"

"Gods, Baltar, watching you shake like a leaf from withdrawal is bad enough, without your dissembling too. Do you have the damned drug ready to produce or not?"

"_I told you he had worked it out…you have to make some progress—quickly._

"Ah…no. But I—"

"Shut the frak up!" Tom sprung from his chair and moved swiftly in front of where Baltar was standing, glowering and close to the doctor's face.

"Gaius, if you're spending time in that frakking lab making Lethe to satisfy your own base needs—yet again—I swear to you, I will kill you, without preamble." Quickly shoving him against the wall, Tom pressed his hand harshly against Baltar's windpipe.

"There are people—_our_ people—who are sick, dying, in need of a medicine you pledged to provide. The only thing that possibly redeems your pathetic existence is that brain of yours. If you destroy that—if you become just the shiftless bag of skin in front of me—I'll make sure we're put out of our misery—which has been suffering with the fact you walk around and get to breathe the same air." He brusquely released Baltar, who slumped to the floor, rubbing the red imprints on his neck.

"_He's right, you know. This is a pathetic existence, Gaius, a waste of your talent. I promised to stay with you, but not with a 'shiftless bag of skin.' You're on the edge, my love—beware, or you'll slip into the abyss. I won't follow you there."_

Gaius stared at Vivian, who looked as menacing as Tom had a few moments before, and responded to both. "I won't be spoken to that way, not even by you. I'll have a first batch of the drug produced in 72 hours—and then I expect you to figure out the tactical details for production, while I take a well-deserved rest for a few days." He realized he was appearing to talk to the wall, so he swiveled his head to Tom.

"Did you know, for relaxation, the Cylons like all things water-related? They have built a spa tub that's bloody amazing. You'll really have to try it out—assuming you can gain access." Baltar smirked, knowing it irritated Zarek that Gaius had full privileges within the Cylon Headquarters complex, while the President did not. Truthfully, Gaius wasn't sure of the real reason for this "perk," though he was fairly certain the Caprica Cylon model had arranged it—Gaius assumed the others had agreed in order to keep a close eye on him. It didn't change the fact the situation was a bone of contention with Zarek.

"_Seventy-two hours—impressive. Of course, that means you'll have to work around the clock—are you sure you're physically up for that? Your tremors are definitely getting worse, Gaius…"_

"Seventy-two hours. See you have staff ready to begin wide-scale development and distribution. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to take my 'shiftless bag of skin' back to my laboratory."

"By all means, doctor. I hope you'll be able to resist your addictions long enough to actually complete some work." Zarek moved towards the door, gesturing for Baltar to make his exit.

Baltar's eyes glinted evilly as he looked at Vivian, her gaze wide-open in mock inquiry as she stood beside Tom.

"Oh, no need to be concerned about me, Mr. President. Better to mindful of your own, um, temptations. That Six model has an eye for you."

Zarek's forehead inched up as both eyebrows arched in genuine surprise. "What did you say?"

"Oh, yes, Tom—the Six model on the cabinet—the one who likes to wear the dark military style jackets? She's talked about you several times, during our hot spa visits. She's developing quite a thing. Wants to know what your sexual 'style' is like—yes, I think that's how she put it…."

"I find it hard to believe I'm the subject of speculation, Gaius. You really need to come up with better material if you want to pique my interest and agitate me. That's what you're after, right—knocking me off balance? Distracting me?" Tom was disgusted by Baltar's pitiful attempt at salacious provocation.

Gaius dropped his voice low, leaning in near Tom's ear. "Fine, Mr. President. Don't take my word for it—look for yourself. The next time you see her, you'll start observing the clues. She likes the name Caprica, by the way. No reason to withhold all human pleasures from yourself, you know—I already found out she's got an excellent…pout. Ask her to show you—"

Tom shoved Baltar to put the proper space between them. "Enough. We're done. Antibiotic—72 hours—or I'll make sure the Cylons find Lethe in the lab and I'll leave you to their mercy—assuming they have any." Zarek released the hatch, pressing his palm sharply between Baltar's shoulder blades to propel him outside. Out of step, Gaius overshot the short stairs and tumbled forward, landing hard on his neck and right arm. Zarek could hear the cursing, then moaning. Those were the last sounds he heard as the hatch re-sealed tightly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom exhaled loudly as he sank back into the couch after Baltar's departure, leaning back with his hands covering his face. He wondered how he was going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The interactions with the Cylon leadership group were fraught with sub-text and minefields. He was always trying to weigh which Cylon statements could be taken at face value, and which ones were actually disguised "expedition" questions, employed to uncover disloyalty, discrepancies, half-truths. The unfortunate reality of Zarek's past heightened the skepticism among the Cylon leadership—Doral was convinced there would eventually be retaliation efforts by the humans, and he believed Tom was as likely to lead a resistance movement as to function in the role of the President. For whatever reason, the others did not share Doral's view, or Tom was certain he would have been followed by now, his dual life uncovered. The hyper-alertness and subterfuge, however, were taking their toll on Tom's energy level and mental focus.

Ironically,_ Operation Defiance_ had yet to begin the second phase, destroying actual targets. On one level, it infuriated Tom there had been no outward demonstration of human insistence on freedom, despite the suspicions that would likely follow Zarek in the aftermath. He continued to believe in action, making loud statements to protest imbalances of power. Still, Tom had to acknowledge, his views had gradually shifted as he took part in the Colonial government. He could see the stakes involved in taking action were very high—it was sobering to comprehend how much. Escalations of tensions and violence on New Caprica were bound to end with the Cylons gaining full control. That recognition motivated Tom to hold his tongue when he observed the Admiral deftly pressuring the human leadership group to delay planned attacks.

In the end, though, Zarek was certain the resistance movement would break out—with or without the settlement leadership's endorsement. Sam Anders himself might break the stalemate first by staging a bombing; he was used to thinking as a guerrilla fighter, and he was going mad with fear over Kara's condition, which only added to his volatility. The Admiral understood how close Sam was to tipping the scale towards terrorism, and as a counterbalance, had dedicated much of his time over the past three weeks working on a detailed rescue mission for Kara, with Sharon and Sam as the infiltration team.

Developing an approach to liberate Starbuck had meant delays in putting _Operation Defiance_ into motion, as the resistance attacks would need to be spread out and extensive to create sufficient chaos for a detention center entry. Tom recognized, however, Adama had other reasons to postpone execution of the plan—Sam was in no physical condition to stage an intense recovery operation, though he was too stubborn to admit it.

Silently, the settlement leadership group hoped against the odds Baltar would come through with the antibiotics. They were deeply concerned over Sam's health, and uncertain there would be anyone else to undertake such a precarious mission if Anders could not function. The rescue would not be successful with one person—there were too many variables for someone to address without support. The options for a different partner to work with Sharon were limited: Tyrol had a family; Tom had to keep his distance; Bill was too valuable an asset to risk in a dangerous mission where he might be apprehended. A former Colonial military officer could be recruited, but that put Sharon and the Admiral both in jeopardy, widening the circle of people who were aware of their presence. Ultimately, if there was to be a rescue attempt, Sam Anders had to be one of the team to execute the plan.

The significant challenge in staging the rescue had been trying to determine Kara's possible location. The center was originally built to house 300 prisoners; the Cylons had added levels and modified interiors over and above the planned architecture, making foreknowledge of the layout impossible. Without a blueprint or other identifying information, the rescuers would be forced to search for Kara, floor by floor, while avoiding discovery or capture. Zarek tried to subtly draw out information from the Cylon cabinet on Starbuck's whereabouts, but so far he was unsuccessful. He contemplated a new strategy to gather sound intel—a strategy was beginning to emerge in his mind, but it was still inchoate.

Zarek was a natural-born politician, as odd as it was to realize it, and his skills had been refined since he became a member of the Quorum nearly two years ago. One of the best methods for uncovering sensitive information was to establish a relationship with someone on the inside, gaining trust and hopefully inner access. Such relationships usually helped in another way: they offered support and a measure of protection when events turned sour. Tom recognized he needed both.

While he was not about to acknowledge anything to Baltar, Tom had indeed noticed Caprica's attentions towards him of late. Gaius' comments helped nudge Zarek along in his thinking—perhaps he should target Caprica to become his intelligence asset. While Tom had originally thought of the Six Cylon model as another "Gina"—quiet, reluctant, and almost vulnerable—he was beginning to perceive the distinct qualities of this incarnation of Six: confidence, intelligence, aloofness, and an explicit sensuality.

Given Caprica's tangible fixation on Baltar when the Cylons first arrived, Tom would not have selected her, initially, as his targeted source. The woman devoted her attentions on the doctor from the first, becoming over-wrought when Gaius overdosed three weeks earlier. Tom gathered, from the whispering of the other Cylons, Caprica had been the one supplying Gaius with Lethe. She evidently had not expected him to become addicted, and the speed of his degeneration shocked her.

As Baltar began his recovery and the power of the Presidency transferred to Zarek, the Cylon backed away from her previous demonstrations of affection for the doctor, projecting feelings of rejection and betrayal. Caprica was profoundly affected by the revelation that Gaius, while unconscious, was frequently uttering another woman's name—Vivian. When he emerged from his coma, Baltar's explanations had done nothing to soothe her wounded feelings. While Tom wondered who Vivian might be—he hadn't met any "hangers-on" with that name when then-President Baltar entertained several females on Colonial One—he assumed she was one of the "groupies," or a contrived fantasy in the brain of an unstable person. Gods knew Gaius appeared to skate the edge of the pond mentally.

Tom learned that, since Baltar's discharge—although Caprica arranged for Gaius to live in the Cylon personal residence complex—the woman had visited him only once or twice. Gaius' suggestion that Caprica joined him in the spa was only made to provoke Zarek's curiosity. It was plausible the pair spent intimate time together before the doctor's overdose, but not in its aftermath. Caprica's new interest in Tom suggested the Cylon was now casting about for another human connection, a new social experiment her Cylon mind would find sufficiently challenging. Then again, maybe she just had a thing for human Presidents…either way, Zarek thought he might be able to exploit the window of opportunity.

As he prepared to sleep for a few hours, one other alarm jangled in the back of Tom's head: why had Caprica grown attached to Baltar so early on? It didn't seem likely, even recognizing the child-like nature of Cylon emotional development, this strong and cool creature would fall, suddenly, for a somewhat slight man who surrendered on behalf of his race without hesitation and had a penchant for talking to walls. Caprica acted as someone who already had a deep connection with Baltar…a link forged over months of time, not weeks. Zarek resolved he would make solving this riddle part of his intelligence gathering plan. He felt in his gut it was the key to something essential, possibly unlocking several other mysteries, once uncovered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill, Sam, and Galen were engrossed in conversation around the table in the communications room, reviewing tactical operations for the first resistance strike and the rescue of Kara. Sam, though active in the discussion, was obviously clammy with illness, sweating and shivering at the same time. Bill ordered a cot be brought in for the man to rest on as they all talked, but it had been cast aside, behind Sam, unused. In a frustration borne of gnawing fear, Adama had then insisted Sam keep several blankets around him, at least, and drink nothing but water throughout the evening. The Admiral had even extracted a promise from Tyrol to walk Anders back to his tent, making sure he didn't pass out along the paths and die of hypothermia in the winter night. Laura continued supplying Sam with one of the few drugs on hand—the analgesic medications stored in The Cellar. No one dared provide him anything stronger, even though limited narcotics were available—Laura knew his breathing would become too shallow, worsening the severity of his pneumonia or causing cardiac arrest.

Even in the sallow light of the underground lamps, everyone could easily see how ill Sam actually was—his health was failing. Meetings to discuss how to free Kara could keep Anders' spirits up and sustain his will to live; Laura and Bill were anguished, however, to realize nothing could make up for the absence of proper medical treatment. It was a battle they were losing, and time was in short supply.

As the others talked, Roslin lay in the outer room, her cot near Isis and Maya, lost in thought. Sharon, exhausted from a heavy labor project carried out earlier in the day, was asleep on the other side of Maya; they were all huddled around the space heater, as the bitter winter winds ensured cold air drifted down to the bottom of the steps and enveloped the dirt floors. A light frost could be seen in the shadowed areas of the enclosure—around the wet ground next to the shower stall or along the rims of the laundry tub. Everyone slept in two layers of sweats; the heater made the immediate area more comfortable, but all feared what would happen if they were jostled awake and forced to make a rapid exit into the night.

Laura's dreams had returned intermittently in the weeks since the Occupation. She noted they usually came upon her after two full days spent near Isis/Hera, and then only when she slept in The Cellar. Since Laura normally rested in the inner room, rather than next to the child, her dreams were now shorter in duration and less coherent than the all-encompassing visions which had penetrated her waking hours in the weeks before the Cylon occupation. Roslin reasoned it had something to do with the amount of time she had been around Isis/Hera then—the child attended school, so the two had been near each other all day, most days.

The current visions, while incomplete, still managed to jerk her out of sleep. It had been very difficult, when she managed to wake Bill inadvertently because of her abrupt movements, not to confess everything to him—about Hera, the content of the images, the warnings. Instead, she let Bill cradle her in his warm, enveloping chest, kiss her hair, and rock her slowly back into soothing blackness.

Laura found she was seized with antipathy, unwilling to lend words to the pictures in her mind, lest that act give them credence and bring them to fruition. Adama, perplexed and disquieted by her refusal to let him into her soul's apparent agony, grew increasingly impatient. Roslin knew Adama too well: he was observing interactions, piecing events together, asking questions. Bill truly loved Laura—it was the only thing that held him back from pressing relentlessly to get to the bottom of this enigma. Eventually, even that boundary would give way, as his anxiety over her emotional well-being overcame other considerations for privacy. Bill would not be denied that inner-most access to her without understanding the reasons. However, once Adama actually found out the source—of the dreams, the reluctance, the dread Laura carried—then he would finally understand that access had come at too high a price. His moral idealism would give him no other options.

Despite the circumstances and the risk, Laura chanced remaining in The Cellar to catch some sleep. She was lonely and exhausted; like Tom and Tory, Sam and Galen, the hyper-vigilance required for daily survival in a Cylon-ruled world sapped her of energy or hope. Only by curling up next to Bill in the evening, warm and safe, was Laura able to replenish her internal center and will herself to press forward, day after day. Roslin rationalized she had only spent 18 hours near Isis/Hera; the visions shouldn't manifest just yet.

Allowing herself the pleasure of a steaming, muscle-penetrating shower, Laura's body gratefully shifted out of overdrive that night. After washing, she'd collapsed deep into the canvas pallet above the cot, three blankets helping her retain warmth into her skin, a gift from the hot running water of moments before. Confident Bill would wake her later to steal a few hours alone, Laura allowed the heaviness of fatigue to pull her eyes closed.

Only a few feet away from Roslin, Sharon was deep in slumber already, dreaming of Karl. They were somehow back on Caprica, with Hera. The world was in its former glory, untarnished, the sun spilling blissfully over the glen where two happy parents were watching their eighteen-month-old daughter giggle as she chased soap bubbles blown through a wand. Hera was truly alive, her bright eyes belying a depth of knowledge almost incongruent with her chubby little hands waving a toy that produced ephemeral froth floating on air.

"_Momma, come here! Here, Momma!" Hera's hair was steaming behind her as she ran towards the trees surrounding the picnic area._

"_Hera, sweetheart, don't run into the woods. It's not safe—we have to stay…"_

"_No, Momma—NO! Go to forest…must stay together…if they find us, no more light!"_

_Sharon could feel her heart pumping fiercely, a new certainty activating part of her brain. She couldn't name the sensation or articulate the knowingness flooding her blood, but she stood up, pulling Karl roughly in step with her. _

"_Karl—it's Hera. We must listen. Forest. Quickly!"_

_They ran, the rustle of Hera's footsteps guiding Sharon's hearing to follow her path. Intensely dark clouds swept in above them; Hera stood in a clearing under the sudden dusk, arms outstretched. Sharon and Helo started to move closer to their little girl, but precipitously found themselves unable to step forward. As Karl gripped Sharon's shoulders tightly, knowing she needed support, Hera began talking to both of them, the wind carrying her voice along. It was no longer a child's words or tone; Hera appeared possessed by some entity, eyes unfocused yet staring straight through her parents._

"_Behold, the red-haired fighter falls, laid low by fear and deception. No god will take pity on her now. The darkest among the seven will claim her—the torch—as he has claimed the dawn and will soon claim the moon. Oppressive skies obliterate the sight of the gods and the sight of The One Who Created the Light. The true instruments of illumination, extinguished or nearly so, must crawl in the blackness to find the remaining hope—the candle. One candle remains lit among seven, protected from the winter wind. _

"_The candle will re-ignite the Sun, and the words the people utter in thanksgiving will embolden The One Who Created Light to breathe stars into being once more. A single star, clutched in violent death, reveals the purpose of all the others just being born. Each star has a mission. Follow the path of the new stars, led by the Sun—no other. The dawn and the moon gather their strength from the rising and setting Sun; it has been and will always be. _

"_Heed not those who speak in riddles; their minds are clouded by the galaxies rushing through. Quiet voices help us hear the words, know the words to utter. The time comes—in the space of nothing and everything—to gather at the Opera House. The songs of the solar winds draw them near, but they must remember Odysseus' solution for the sirens. _

"_Listen for the true revealed melody, played in six-eight time, coursing in concert through the blood of those gathered. The too-rapid waltz spins nearly out of control, until the five are reunited with the original source of illumination, The One Who Created Light. Judgment now befalls the artificial lamps, false prophets all. _

"_When the blood waltz slows and returns to proper three-four time, the cycles are now ended. Nothing will repeat. An unknown star at last rises in the morning sky; all who behold it are fully restored. No calendars mark those days, spent above the vivid blue horizon._

"_Remember. Remember! REMEMBER!"_

Screams woke Sharon. She felt her throat sting—_she_ was screaming. Flinging herself into an upright position, she realized she heard two others also wailing. It was difficult, in the dark, to make out faces, but the labored breathing sounds revealed Laura and Isis were affected.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I was dreaming and it was so intense—I thought someone was yelling into my ear to…" Sharon stopped, unable to make her lips form the word in her mind. "I guess you were reacting to my shrieking?" She was wondering what made the other two cry out.

"Was it—I mean did you….didn't she say in the dream 'Remember'?" Sharon recognized Laura's voice.

"Gods, Laura—I don't think I said it aloud…she was so enthralling…."

"Then you heard it Sharon, Isi—Hera speaking?"

"I heard Hera talking, yes. Only it wasn't really the child…someone was speaking _through _her."

"Hera instructed us to to memory what we heard. We need to write it all down, immediately. Sharon, will you help me?"

"Yes, but…why did Isis cry out too—"

"I don't know, Sharon. We'll have to solve that later. Maybe she was startled by our yelping." Laura's chest cinched tightly; it was a damned lie, and she could sense carefully woven fabric was unraveling before her; everything was about to be undone and exposed.

"Sharon, let's try to capture the words—we must hurry."

"Oh—okay. Okay." The women huddled together at the table as the communications room door swung open. It hit the inner wall too hard; mud fell in pieces off the front.

"Laura? Sharon? Gods, what the hell happened in here?" Bill's voice bellowed in controlled fear.

"Bill—it's fine. Trust me." Laura looked at him; he could see her face in the shadows, as the lighting spilled into the outer area. It wasn't fine—he felt, in his gut, it wasn't fine at all.

"Roslin, I—"

"William Adama, Sharon and I experienced a shared vision, and it's imperative we capture the messages…conveyed by…by Pythia, using Hera as a mouthpiece." Sharon's hand reflexively covered her mouth as she digested what Laura just said…could it really be Pythia communicating with them?

"I'm afraid you're going to have to offer a better—"

"Admiral, leave us. I won't ask again."

Adama turned on his heel and moved back into the other space, shaking with anger. It was excruciating, beset with these strong emotions in rapid succession.

The next moment, however, he realized the dance with the fates wasn't even complete yet—things were beginning to whirl at a breakneck speed. Struck with terror, he absorbed the scene in the communications room, trying to pinpoint what was amiss. Then he was at the cot in two strides; Anders had collapsed there.

"Sam…can you hear me? Sam—wake up, Sam. Sam!" Bill leaned down, holding his breath to see if he could feel or hear Anders' own. Nothing. Ear to the man's chest—nothing.

Well-honed instincts, borne of many years functioning in crisis situations, spurred Adama to start chest compressions and blow air into Sam's mouth. Galen stood for a moment, watching him in shock, before recognizing he needed to act. Instantly.

"Tory—come here! Tory—it's Sam—we need help!"

Tory flew into the room, eyes filled with horror as she comprehended the gravity of the moment.

"Oh, Gods." She paused, looking momentarily as though she might faint, before Galen saw her hands grip into tight fists. She stood straighter, meeting him calmly in the eye.

"I'm going to find Tom. He'll gain access to the Cylon Headquarters and we'll convince the cabinet the Cylons must help by transporting Sam back to their medical unit for treatment. As soon as you revive him—and you _will_--Anders **must** make it his tent. There will only be a matter of minutes to ensure it happens. Even if the Admiral has to risk being seen in order to help, you've both got to get Sam to the place where they'll expect to find him."

Galen took her arm in his hand, squeezing it for affirmation. "Gods be with you, Tory."

"And with you, Galen."

Roslin had written as much as she could recall; Sharon was intently reviewing the page to add her thoughts, as Laura saw Tory rush back towards them. She was frantically pulling clothes on, grasping for a coat and scarf to mitigate the biting cold outside.

"Tory, you can't go out there—it's too hazardous—"

"Roslin! Sam's in cardiac arrest. Bill's trying to revive him. I believe the gods will save Sam, for this moment, but he needs help—assistance we can't provide. It is not an option to fail him. I have to go to Tom, have to get the Cylons to intercede. It's Sam's only chance." She leapt up the steps, three at a time, and the room echoed with the sound of the trapdoor falling.

Sharon continued assembling words together while the others moved around her. She was racing against fading memories that were crumbling apart in the adrenaline rush still pumping wildly through her body. Isis could be heard crying in the background; Maya tried to comfort her, but all the child could do was moan and mutter "Momma…candle…Momma…protect them…help Sun."

Sharon shoved the completed paper to Laura as she finally slumped back in her chair. Laura scanned the page, nodding emphatically.

"I think we got it, Sharon…thank you." She hugged the woman in relief, only too late realizing what was to happen next would erase all that had gone before it.

Simultaneously, Roslin and Sharon remembered the crisis with their friend and stood up to enter the inner room. Bill was bent over Sam's body, lost in the rhythm of compressions and breaths.

"There's epinephrine in the med kit I brought back from the raptor; we need to administer it." Sharon swooped into the shadows and returned with the box. Kneeling beside the Admiral, she prepped the needle before injecting it into Sam's chest. Bill continued working over Anders, but he remained lifeless. Nothing was making a difference…

Sharon's eyes wandered frantically across the room. They needed to shock his heart…but how? She studied the communications panel. Wires…metal panels…running electricity. So little time, though—

Without hesitation, she lifted the equipment and placed it on the floor. Bill nodded his assent, realizing what she wanted to do. Two minutes later—how she managed it would be a tale for years to come—an odd-looking contraption with metal plates joined by live electrical wiring was thrust towards the Admiral.

"Okay, so I'm going to be the grounding, where the current stops. Tyrol—you'll touch the wires together to complete the circuit, while I hold the panels against Sam's chest. Admiral, you'll have to be the one to pull me off as Galen disconnects the wires; the muscles in my arms will be locked, frozen up."

"And how will you avoid cardiac arrest, Sharon? Gods, it's too risky…"

"Admiral, I am a better judge of that at this moment. There's no time!"

With a heavy sigh from Adama, the three moved into positions around the prostrate Sam; the circuit connected, the man's chest heaved upward, and Bill grabbed Sharon to roll her away from the body.

A rasping breath, followed by coughing, brought the three to smiles filled with tears. "What the frak…" Sam uttered, barely audible.

"Son, you gave us all quite a scare. Welcome back to the land of the living." Bill leaned forward and lightly kissed the man's forehead; he was overcome with affection for the young man whom they had almost lost.

Tyrol spoke up. "Sir, respectfully, there's no time—we've got to get him to his tent before the Cylons come…"

"Let's grab the ends of the cot; it's got to be the best way to move him without risking another event."

Galen moved by Ander's head as Adama grabbed the sides by Sam's feet. Sharon offered to move upward first to lift the trapdoor and hold it as the men made their way up the stairs; in another three minutes, they were all above ground. Sharon took in a deep gulp of fresh air, ignoring the pain from the cold infusing her lungs. Arranging the blankets to cover Sam, she ran back down to grab coats and gloves for the two other men. No other words were exchanged as Galen and the Admiral staggered into the inky space, hefting Sam back to his tent.

Sharon continued to stand above The Cellar entrance, hugging herself as she closed her eyes. Tears began streaming down her face as the images from the dream stirred her emotions into a tempest. Anguish in missing Helo brought deeper sobs forth; she bent over, arms folded across her waist, as the cries strained her diaphragm and it spasmed in protest. Her daughter was dead—it had only been a dream—and the loss felt acute, larger than the space of her heart could bear.

As her emotions ebbed slightly, though, reason began to assert itself. Questions…intimations… instincts. Wiping her face, the tears crystallized by the temperature, Sharon lifted up the trapdoor and walked with deliberateness into the room below. The lights were on again in the outer room; Isis was still whimpering. Laura was transfixed by the text just transcribed from the vision. Sharon turned to speak to Maya.

"How's Isis doing right now? She's acting as though she…she experienced the same dream too." Maya studied Sharon's face in return, a mother's worry etched into her taut mouth and forehead.

"I know. I can't explain it…I don't understand."

"Maybe we should try giving her a shower, Maya; the hot water is always soothing, and we don't really have a tub…"

Laura's head jerked away from the page in her hand. "I…are you sure that's a good idea? A lullaby and rocking might do the trick."

Sharon locked her gaze on Laura, eyes bold and smoldering with pent-up anger. "I want to try the shower…Maya, if you'll give Isis to me, I'll take care of her. It's been a rough night for everyone; why don't you rest? You've been trying to calm Isis for a hour; take a few minutes to close your eyes while I help out."

Maya acquiesced; she was feeling small and frightened, ever since they'd been awakened earlier, and she was now overcome by the weariness that follows surges of adrenaline.

Roslin—watching Sharon pick up the child, gently whisper to her, undress her—realized Sharon was figuring it all out. Somehow, the mother had a way of confirming the truth, and was about to uncover the last clue.

Maya eased into her cot, falling immediately asleep. Laura leaned forward at the table, her head braced in her hands, index fingers pressed hard against her inner tear ducts as she closed her eyes. She attempted to inhale deep breaths, but found it nearly impossible as her heart threatened to skip a beat and collapse altogether.

After a few moments, the child's wails stopped. The mechanical thrum of the working water heater, close to Laura's chair, drowned out any words Sharon might be saying to the little girl. Ten minutes later, towels wrapped snugly around each one, they emerged into the chilling room. Sharon grabbed a set of fresh sweats for herself and a clean pair of pajamas for Isis. They moved in front of the space heater, Sharon dressing the child before clothing herself and thoroughly wringing out her wet hair, re-wrapping it with the towel to keep her head warm.

Maya didn't stir; Laura kept her head bowed with her eyes closed. With a studied smoothness, Sharon guided the little one under the blankets on her cot, which she then moved closer to Maya's. Kissing her forehead, Sharon whispered, "I love you, special girl." Isis murmured something incoherent, her eyes heavy as she turned on her side and eased into sleep. Sharon righted herself and walked over to the table, placing her hand firmly under Roslin's left arm to force her to lift up.

"Laura, I think we have something important to discuss. Let's move into the communications room. I want to talk before the Admiral returns."

Wordlessly, Roslin pulled her sweater a little more closely around her as she stepped inside. The two women sat in the scattered chairs, directly staring at each other.

"Isis is Hera. Is that correct?" Sharon's voice was calm and frigid.

Laura broke the gaze, examining her own hands in her lap.

"Yes, that's right." Recriminations, insults, hatred, disgust—the words filled the room, though neither was speaking aloud.

"What confirmed it for you—what were you looking for while you bathed her?"

"I'm not sure you have the standing to ask _me_ questions anymore, Roslin. To satisfy your ill-timed curiosity…Hera had a birthmark. One I noticed soon after she was born, because Karl has it too. It rests between the butt cheeks. Cottle wouldn't have known. One of the nurses might have seen it, but given Hera's long placement in the isolette, I doubt that too. Now—going forward, I ask the questions—do you understand?" Laura bowed her head lower a moment, in acknowledgement.

After a long pause, Sharon quietly probed. "How?"

"Isn't the more important question 'Why'?"

"Yes, but it comes after 'How.' So tell me. You'll have to explain it to the Admiral too, which will be harder still—I'm assuming he doesn't know of the deception?"

"No, he doesn't. This was of my own making. I…"

Gods, it was about to sound as horrible at it really was, explaining what she did. Until this minute, Laura had never completely faced the brutal truth, the base ugliness of the act. She fought to steady her voice; there was no point in cowering from the facts now.

"Maya lost a child at birth. I offered, as President, to help her adopt. The…the children were switched. Maya doesn't have any idea of what transpired either; she accepted my help without questions. When I relocated to New Caprica, Maya and Isis—Hera—were already settled. I brought them into the school, to keep them safe."

"As though they are safe with you? '…_brought down by fear and deception_…' isn't that what Hera said? You took a child away from her parents, and you think you are protecting her?" Sharon exhaled in a huff of disgust. "Your fear drove you to abandon everything you are supposed to stand for, the office is supposed to stand for. I risked my life to protect those ideals—"

"When was that, exactly—before you shot the Admiral? Or before you tricked Helo down on Caprica?" Laura was incensed; despite the unjustifiable actions she'd taken, she was still bitterly reminded this creature before her was a Cylon—first—then a mother. Maybe.

"I am not the one who attempted to kill Adama, and I am tired of being linked with her as though we are all just one. One model, many copies in physiology—not in psychology. Surely you're smart enough to figure that out, Laura. Since you used power like a god, you must believe you are as intelligent as one, as wise? Of course, we should all remember our ancient history—the Lords of Kobol had some harsh punishments for mortals who believed they were like the gods. I believe hubris has felled the mighty in the cycle once more."

Laura leveled out her shoulders, resting her arms on her thighs as she matched Sharon's thorny stares. "There may not be a justification for what I did, Sharon, but there are reasons. Hera is special, and what's more, you know it. The other Cylons know it. _She_ knows it. Right now, no one—human or Cylon—realizes she exists. In the fleet, there was a real danger Hera would be outcast, kidnapped, or murdered. With the Cylons, I suspect the same is true. A hidden identity has been the most effective way to protect her."

"You mean protect yourself, Laura. You were motivated by prejudice—alarmed by a baby, for gods sakes, because she came from a conception you didn't understand and could not accept. And now—how will we work this through for that little girl? I am her mother, and I am going to assert my rights as her parent. She will come to know her real name, her real father, her real heritage. You've hurt Maya, and destroyed my trust in you, as well as Helo's, once he finds out. But you may have also destroyed the trust of the man who matters to you most…he will not abide by this. He cannot embrace a person who would commit such a heinous act, whatever the excuse given."

"Lieutenant! Stand at attention!"" It was the Admiral—he had managed to return and make it down the steps without being noticed. Sharon stood up and faced him, stiffly, hand at salute.

"Gods…Bill…we didn't know you were back." Laura looked up at him, unable to move. Adama's eyes remained fixed on Sharon.

"That is more appropriate conduct for an officer of the Colonial fleet. Whatever's transpiring here, I don't like your pronouncements or your tone, Lieutenant. Now—" and he gestured to both of them—"Tell me what's going on. Does this have something to do with the dream from earlier?"

Sharon interjected, unwilling to let Laura spin anything. "It does, Sir. It seems Roslin, the little girl, and I all share something in common—blood. That's how we all came to experience the same vision." She was visibly enraged; Adama could not remember ever seeing that manner of scowl on her face.

"I can hardly do the rest of the story justice, so I'll leave it to Roslin to bring you into the loop on the other details. Permission to be dismissed, Sir." Bill nodded, watching Sharon abruptly leave the room, shutting the door precisely behind her.

Recognizing Sharon was not the only person in a state of emotional disarray, Bill took Laura's hand, helping her stand and leading her to sit on the canvas pallets covering part of the floor. He knew she was pale and badly shaken; it might be the only time he had ever seen her appear truly bereft.

They sat side-by-side, leaning against the dried mud wall. Bill covered her with a blanket, then grabbed her hand firmly in his own under the covers. With as much calmness as he could muster, he encouraged Laura to explain what had transpired.

"Let's start over. You had a powerful dream this evening, and somehow, Sharon and Isis experienced a connection with it at the same time. Right so far?" Laura nodded.

"Okay…so when you three awoke, and realized the dream was shared, Sharon worked with you to figure out the words spoken within the vision. Were you successful in the translation?" Once again, Laura nodded.

"Can I see the text?" Roslin removed a sheet of paper from her sweater pocket, handing it to him. He read through it twice before handing it back.

"You believe you're the 'red-haired warrior'—and now Sharon believes that too…" More nodding. Adama reached over to Laura's face, letting the heat of his hands bring some color back to her cheeks.

"Whatever deception there's been—I will forgive you. Laura—read my eyes—you must believe what I'm telling you." Tears fell like miniature rainstorms on his fingers. "Say it out loud."

"I bel…I believe you." She wasn't convincing.

"I'm going to put my arms around you, pull you close. Take a deep breath, draw strength from me, and whisper the truth. All of it."

She complied. The phrases felt like tiny rolls of paper tumbling dryly from her mouth, bouncing roughly against the edges of Adama's ear. He gripped her more tightly as she progressed deeper into the story; for support or in anger, she wasn't sure which.

The last statement out in the air at last, Laura leaned her forehead onto his shoulder, a head toppled by the weight of shame and penitence. They sat that way, ominously still, for a long while. Gently, Bill finally extracted himself from the embrace, sliding on his knees toward the supply crate near the bed. Grabbing two bottles of water, he yanked out the generator cord to shut off the lights and eased back into his position against the wall, handing a container to Laura. They leaned into the dirt, eyes closed, drinking quietly, lost in throbbing emotions. Minutes passed; Roslin thought perhaps he had fallen asleep, worn out by the turbulent events of the day.

She was surprised, then, to feel his lips upon hers, urgent and questioning as he pressed into deeper kisses, tongue forcefully probing her. She moaned in response, letting the darkness and his hands envelop her body in a temporary cocoon. Bill's fingers skimmed over her face as though exploring it for the first time. She felt his mouth hot against her neck, skin caught almost painfully in the pressure, before his teeth scraped her shoulder roughly. He was in that peculiarly human state of fury and passion, ready to abandon and to commit in the same moment. It was a potent mix of pleasure and grief woven inexplicably together.

He sucked her nipples hard, then slid his warm fingers between her legs, guiding her slick folds apart and reveling in the wetness discovered there. He penetrated her with two fingers, impatient to force her into losing control. Using his tongue to stimulate her nipples again, he rubbed his thumb firmly against her sensitive nub, as his fingertips pressed inside her, pushing her rapidly towards the edge. She entwined her fingers in his hair as she came, pulling hard for leverage as she arched back, unhinged. Laura had no control left to surrender.

He eased her back onto the bed, moving upward to bring his shaft to her mouth, teasing her lips apart with the glistening head. Bill had never been this aggressive before; he was desperately trying to channel his rage into his feral want of her. She took his whole length into her mouth, letting her teeth lightly scrape his shaft as she slid back to suck on the tip. After several minutes, feeling his hips buck, she stroked the shaft in the same rhythm, teasing him until she felt his hand grab her to push her mouth completely down around him once more. He was already close to coming, frantic thrusts pushing him deeper down her throat. Crying out in distress, knowing he wanted to feel himself inside, driving into her repeatedly with the full weight of his body, he pulled away from her lips and quickly slid across her, skin rubbing skin as she felt his wet erection drag along her thigh.

Opening her legs wide, knowing she was as exposed in all dimensions as she had ever been in her adult life, she gasped as he thrust his shaft deep, not waiting for her body to adjust to his engorged width. He pivoted his hips to touch each wall, propelling her towards orgasm again. He was sliding into her rapidly, repeatedly, groaning as he felt the surge almost peaking. Breathing heavily in her ear, he was so close…closer…

The rumble of his words, mixed with ragged breaths, resonated in her core. "I…want to…despise ..y..you.." He crested, coming with a guttural wail emanating from the base of his chest. The sound…she was overcome with primal urges, hearing the need and pain in that release. "I…know…" she said aloud, her climax following in a pronounced moan as she threw her head back, held up only by his hand gripping the base of her neck.

Immediately rolling onto her side, sobs echoing in cascades, Roslin felt Bill slide his arm around her waist, matching her shape to keep her pressed tightly against him. Then she experienced a sensation that broke her soul: his tears, hot and sloppy, seeped into the ridge along her spine. Laura knew, as her spirit wafted away in different directions, another prophetic insight had manifested into reality. Bill Adama would talk to her, work with her, maybe even frak her going forward, but they might never hold intimate conversations or make love again. Her mind as blank as her soul was absent, sleep overtook Laura. There were no more dreams.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tory was running, which helped her stay warm. Twelve inches of snow covered the ground, and ice was layered below that; she concentrated on maintaining her balance, keeping her feet in sync. It was a much better option to focus on the immediate present—breathing, balance, direction—than reflect on what had happened or what she was going to say next.

A little breathless, her face flushed from exertion, she reached the Phygera. The perimeter alarm triggered inside; lights could be seen as Tom roused himself. The hatch made reassuring sounds as it swung upward. She moved up the steps and gasped in delight at the feel of the truly warm air.

"Tory, Gods, you really gave me a start! What's going on? What can I do to help?" Tom figured she wouldn't appear in the dead of a blistering winter night unless it was an emergency.

As she walked further inside the main area, unwrapping her scarf and removing her coat, Zarek found himself unwittingly mesmerized by graceful waves of her hair. The regular lighting, of a better quality than the fixtures in The Cellar, played off her olive skin and highlighted the magnetic brown of her eyes. _Tom, I can't believe…you must be one lonely frak right now._

He shifted his weight as he disciplined himself to re-focus on Tory's statements. "Wait, wait, slow down, Tory. Sam's heart stopped? Just now?" The enormity of the situation was starting to hit hard.

"Yes, Tom. The Admiral, Sharon, and Galen—they are resuscitating him, then they'll bring him to his tent. But we're going to need the Cylon medical staff to actually treat him; he won't make it to the morning without proper care."

"Yeah….I get it. We need to make our way to the Cylon Headquarters. I'll grab some clothes—give me a minute."

He rushed into the bedroom, and Tory was alarmed to recognize her personal interest in him was making itself known at this very inappropriate time. He had been standing there in pants, no shirt; she'd never realized how toned he was, or how she liked the way his voice resonated slightly in her own chest. _I'm exhausted and untethered…what an absurd moment to be distracted this way! _The stress, she figured—it had to be the stress. Extreme tensions affected humans strangely—it was as if their DNA was programmed to kick in during a prolonged crisis to say "time to find protection, comfort, bond with someone to make sure you make it to the next day." _Ancient programming_, she muttered internally…still hard to over-ride, even after several millennia.

Tom's re-emergence brought her out of her odd reverie. "Ready?"

She began wrapping her scarf around her face again, in answer. He grabbed their coats; they exited the ship and started to walk towards the compound. Tory shuddered, thinking about entering the complex; it was an eerie environment. The rooms were minimalist but large; wide hallways ran in long swaths, criss-crossing the buildings; and the ceilings were very high—about 20 feet in each space. The Cylons incorporated very little color or artwork. Sometimes it felt more like entering a factory—or a morgue—than administrative buildings. She'd never seen the residence wing, but Tory suspected it was similar in tone. Only Baltar might know the difference…wait—Baltar!

"Tom, we need to wake Baltar too. He might have a prototype of the antibiotic we could administer to Sam."

"I was already thinking the same thing…but first we have to get someone's attention in the medical wing."

Tom bypassed the main entrance, instead selecting a gate on the west side of the core building. Entering a code, they passed through; Tom grabbed Tory's hand to lead her to the medical facility. Once at the door, Tom began banging on the glass, trying to get the night person's attention; it was a Simon model. Finally, spotting the two humans in the distance outside, the Cylon came to them.

"What do you want? We don't allow humans to—"

"I'm the President of the 12 colonies, and we have a medical emergency. I'm asking for your help; according to the procedures set forth by the Cylon cabinet, you are to render medical treatment when asked in an emergency."

"I'll call the response team. Wait over there." The Simon model pointed to a set of chairs along a short wall.

"No, we can't wait. Take Tory with you; she helps support the human government and will show the response team where Sam Anders' tent is located. I'm proceeding to the residence area to see Dr. Baltar. Please open the hallway doors."

The Cylon hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with Tom's plan. After reflecting, he swiped a card across a reader in front of one hallway, gesturing Tom should step through. "The doctor's quarters are up a level; the room is marked with his name, about half-way down the corridor."

With precise movement, the Cylon turned towards a different hallway, gently pushing Tory towards that entrance. Tom watched them slip around a corner as he made his way deeper into the building.

Tom actually found Gaius in the lab instead, looking disheveled and more manic. To his shock, though, the gods had answered the prayers of the humans—the first batch of antibiotics was finished and could be used. Picking up one of the many external phones located in the hallways, Tom began making calls, setting up production protocols for the next morning. As he finished and returned to the lab, he found Baltar searching rather frantically for his glasses. Roughly shoving them onto his own face, Gaius grabbed Zarek's arm, pulling him into the corridor.

"Alright, then, we need to take a walk to the infirmary, make sure the Cylons understand how to administer the drug and what the correct dosages are. Then, Mr. Zarek, as you may recall, I said I would take a few days of rest, which I plan to start as soon as we've given Anders his meds." Tom followed the scientist back into medical, and was relieved to see Sam in a proper hospital bed, IVs beginning to replenish fluids and restore nutrition to his battered body.

Anders was unconscious but stable, according to the monitors. Baltar ordered a bolus administration of the antibiotic, to ensure it began to take effect immediately. Then he perfunctorily said goodbye to Tom and indicated he wasn't reachable for three days.

Tom turned to the Cylons taking care of Anders—a Boomer and another Simon. "We'd like to remain here with him. Can someone bring in extra cots?"

Boomer looked at him. "We don't recommend this type of hovering, but I realize it is a human need. We'll make arrangements, and I'll get you both limited passes to come in and out of the complex."

"Thank you, Boomer." Tom smiled lightly; he definitely didn't want any complications in Cylon relationships right now, so they needed to know the humans were grateful.

Tory seemed to sense what was necessary as well. "Yes, we deeply thank you for helping us. We aren't equipped to properly help Sam."

The Cylons nodded, as though the two had just confessed to inadequacies on behalf of the whole human race. "We will make sure he recovers."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first twenty-four hours, Tom and Tory remained continually by Sam's side. Zarek knew the settlement leadership group had to be worried, but there was no way share information in this moment without risking discovery. Both managed to sleep for six hours in the cots near the hospital bed, sheer fatigue winning over all other considerations. The space was warm and quiet; Cylons weren't given to frequent conversation, and there were few patients, as one would expect.

When Tom stirred again, he saw Tory sitting by Sam's bedside, holding his hand and placing a cool cloth on his forehead. Anders was mouthing words, incoherent save one: "Kara." Tom wondered, not for the first time, what bewitching influence Kara Thrace possessed that men treated her like Helen of Troy.

Starbuck was striking—"unconventional beauty" would be the typical description—and bold. She was also insolent, impulsive, and fickle, in Tom's estimation. Zarek thought well of Sam, but he could almost rationalize how the man would miss the signs or fall under a spell; he wasn't terribly astute. Lee Adama was more of a conundrum—Tom knew how intelligent the man was, and his assessments of people were finely calibrated. Lee had proven, time and again, he would pull out all the stops to support, stand with, protect, or rescue Kara Thrace. For Zarek, it meant either Kara was worthy of the highest regard, or she was the siren calling them to their deaths, where they would be broken into many pieces by the impact of the rocks against their hulls. Right now, he was leaning towards the "siren" theory.

Nevertheless, Tom considered, her presence would be the one reason Lee Adama came back. He'd rescue everyone, but only as a pretense to save her, reclaim her as his own. Starbuck might have married a common man, but she was bound to her orbit around the Sun; no mere mortal could compete with the gravitational pull of a god.

Frustrated by the lack of options to occupy his mind, Tom allowed himself to observe Tory, size up his level of knowledge about her. Given his earlier moment of attraction, this plan seemed certain to lead to uncomfortable territory; he forged ahead anyway. He had noted, over the past months, she was never the one to initiate conversations in a group, preferring reticence. When needed, however, Tory could speak eloquently, a quiet passion infusing her words. Tom thought her fast-footed and an effective problem-solver; he could see why Roslin had selected Tory as her aide after Billy's tragic death. She was still something of a mystery, though, even to Laura. No one had managed to entice Tory to share her story—about her parents, her siblings (did she even have them?), her life before Galactica. Despite the lack of historical detail, she'd won the respect of many on New Caprica, for her understated toughness and loyalty. Tom had to admit he wanted to know her better, get a deeper sense of what made the woman tick.

Now Tom was seeing a different side of Tory, as she took care of Sam in the first hours after his hospitalization. She exhibited a tenderness and personal warmth previously undetected; Tory talked to Anders, sharing updates, or hummed soothing melodies when he tossed in agitated sleep. Mainly she held his hand, whispering how he had to come back strong to save Kara, urging him to push himself back up into consciousness. She had a graceful carriage, and while she could be rattled, Tom had seen her grow in terms of resolve and control as she navigated the strange waters of pioneering and then occupation. She was demonstrating that now, focused on offering strength and support to a man she hardly knew only a year ago.

After 36 hours and several IV bags—fluid, medications, nutrition—Sam entered full wakefulness. Tom and Tory hugged in joy and victory, seeing the man talk and joke with them. They quickly made sure Sam understood where they were—no one could risk slips of the tongue around the Cylons. He was able to get out of bed and walk the long hallway; he ate real foods; his cough began at long last to subside. Anders' ribs still ached from the lung sac inflammation and the constant hacking of the past, but the antibiotic had started to work its magic, allowing the man to become stronger each day. To their surprise, the Cylons even allowed Sam to use the relaxation spas and gave him larger meal portions to help build his vigor back.

Three days passed; Tom returned to his regular duties, while the Cylon cabinet authorized Tory's release from work shifts until Anders was ready for discharge. On the sixth day, Anders was told he could return to the settlement. The Cylon medical team member strongly urged him to stay with someone on one of the grounded ships, where he would remain out of the cold and have someone to assist him in daily activities as he regained his strength. Sam was also given a three-week rest pass, so he would not be expected to return to construction for a while.

Tory approached Zarek to see if he could make room for Sam to live on the Phygera for the interim. Reluctant to give up his cherished solitary time, Tom nevertheless agreed, understanding how important it was to have Sam fully participate in the settlement leadership group's activities. He braced himself, though, for brooding soliloquies on Starbuck—Anders was famous for drunken lamentations regarding his wife—and Tom hoped a moratorium on liquor would take care of most of that problem.

One week after Sam Anders died and came back for another go-around with life, he set up temporary quarters with Zarek, and looked forward to accomplishing the most important task ahead of him: rescuing Kara Thrace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was talking to her again, and she had learned weeks ago how to shut the droning out. Leoben's voice was so abhorrent, it was a matter of preservation; she had dismissed "prisoner of war" training as psychological clap-trap when she was in the Academy, but now she just wished she remembered more of the techniques. The last two weeks had been better—if that was a word that even applied to her life anymore—because the physical beatings had stopped, as well as the intense psych assaults. He seemed to be switching tactics. Lately it was the "attentive lover"—frak, how repulsive that sounded—bringing her small treasures, providing her warmer clothes, not forcing her to spend dinner with him every night. Of course, that was all after…after he had broken her collar bone….after he had broken her hand…after he re-injured her ribs. The traumas were severe enough he had to seek medical treatment for Kara, though she suffered with the broken bones for three days without pain medications before he finally took her to the Cylon infirmary, and only then because he found her unconscious, passed out from the physical agony. The penetrating stares from the other skin-jobs seemed to unnerve Leoben—at least she'd learned he could be knocked off-center—he began his new routine right after she was discharged.

The resetting of her collar was a bitch, and the medical team member indicated it might not heal correctly—there was little they could do, he claimed. To Kara's tremendous relief, the toaster in charge set her hand in a good cast; it was her right hand, and she had earlier feared she wouldn't be able to write or eat with it, let alone fly again, before he re-aligned the bones and molded the splints. The ribs were another matter…Kara was in constant pain now trying to breathe, often choking when she ate. It felt as though one of the bones had cracked so badly it was sitting at an angle, pressing into her lung. The Cylon medic insisted surgery was necessary. Terrified, yet unable to solve her problems alone, Kara had submitted, praying to the god Apollo she would be healed—hell, that she would even wake up again.

Several hours after the operation, she came-to in a fairly normal-looking hospital room. Her first conscious thought was that of Leoben's eyes burning her skin in his over-stated gaze of "compassion." She started crying; thankfully, the narcotics were still coursing through her bloodstream, so she didn't feel the stabbing pain that might have accompanied this display of emotion otherwise. By some divine intervention, the Simon model in the room insisted Leoben leave at that point, and for the next three days, she didn't have to face him. Sleep became desirable—attainable again—and even food started to have taste.

Before she was released back to her cell, Kara observed a Boomer model yelling at Leoben, far down the long corridor across from her room. He was ashen and trembling when he returned to escort her back to the detention center, saying very little as he made sure Kara was set up to be able to navigate throughout the space with her hand cast and restricted arm movement. Now, as she passed the second week mark back in the "apartment," she took inventory of his "make amends" gifts. There had been an offering of paints and canvas—useless to a woman with her hand in a cast; some books, all expounding on the Cylon faith; and a cat. How the skin-job found the feline, she couldn't imagine, but it was the one thing she considered a gift—from the gods, not Leoben. She named the little creature "Helo" because the male cat made her laugh with his antics and he comforted her when she cried, which was at least once a day. The silly thing even loved to get in the shower with her—so odd for a cat—compactly resting in a corner to avoid the splashing water. Negotiating the shower had been tricky; she had to hold the casted arm out from the curtain, risking a serious fall—but it was too vital to her coping and she wouldn't deprive herself of that rare pleasure. Somehow, Kara felt the cat stayed in that uncomfortable environment—water falling so close—just to watch over her; another reassuring sign from the gods they had not forgotten her.

Kara barely noticed when Leoben stopped talking at last and made his exit up the stairs; she only recognized his absence by the relative sense of calm that settled over her once his dark energy left the space. Even though she longed to be alone, it wasn't really for the solitude; she was acutely lonely and bereft. The gods might not have forgotten her, but no humans seemed to be missing Starbuck, and a bitterness began to form in her heart, calcifying layer after layer of muscle. It was Kara's punishment, she believed, for the pain she'd caused others…and yet, she had been so convinced Sam, the Old Man—Lee—had all truly loved her enough to at least pull her out of this abyss. Were they all dead? Was this miserable existence among Cylons all that was left to her?

Terror deeper than any Leoben could invoke stoked her soul's acrimony, because she knew she had no one to blame, in the end, for her abandonment. Especially Lee…words from a song or poem Apollo had once been fond of drifted into mind. _ "…signals cross and love gets lost, and time passed makes it plain. Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most…I'm in love with your ghost."_ It occurred to her, after all this time, maybe Lee had been trying to tell her something about himself when he quoted the words, particularly since the first time he had murmured them in her ear was shortly after Zak's death. Then, she'd assumed he was referring to Kara's relationship with his brother. It was an absurd rationalization, in hindsight, given what had already transpired between them at that point…she should have understood, tried to let him know it wasn't all lost…

_Four weeks after Drasting had tried to rape her and Lee Adama had interceded, she received a note. It appeared in her computer's inbox late one evening, when she was studying for her advanced astrophysics mid-term, and the alert sound made her jump. _

_LKAdamacolonialwarcollege.gov__. What the frak? Her hand shaking slightly, she opened the message, re-reading it as though she only knew first-grade Colonial language, mouthing each word. _

"Kara,

Was thinking of you and hoping you're getting some quality Viper sim time. I'll be on campus in 10 days—please keep your promise to come to my lecture. Lightening suggested dinner afterward at a great café off-compound, with Musket and with you—I'd love to catch up. Can you make it? The lecture date/time and restaurant location are listed below. Let me know.

Lee

PS—kick ass on your astrophys mid-term."

_Kara was a little dumbstruck. Sure, she'd thought about him ever since that night, but she also figured he thought her a trouble-maker. She'd found fault with his maneuver—one the frakkin' War College had already approved for testing—and managed to get so embarrassingly drunk she couldn't even protect herself on a two-block walk home. Not exactly quality material…besides, he was an officer—a by-the-book officer—he didn't cross lines that were easy to avoid, not when he intended to command a battlestar one day. _

_All the same, Kara couldn't forget the charged current she felt when she was in his arms, when he stood so close she could see his inner-most thoughts flickering in his remarkable eyes. It was more profound than sexual attraction, though she couldn't tell why…it was just an incontrovertible truth. Yeah, she was definitely going to be there to see him. And Lightening had come through as pledged—gods, she now had to get something feminine to wear! _

_She typed back her reply._

Lee,

Good to hear from you. Slaving away on astrophysics at the moment. Not much time for bird-watching—more's the pity. Will plan on lecture and dinner (keep the lecture thing short, okay?). Talk then—

Kara

PS—heard the maneuver testing went off well—congrats!

_Next, she sent a note to Lightening._

Sarah—help! Need hot outfit and prepping for the big-league dinner with the sun god. Are you available Saturday? Thanks for setting up, by the way. Starbuck

_Just as she was ready to review event horizon characteristics once again, the message alert went off again. It was Lee._

"Turning in…sweet dreams, Starbuck."

_Inexplicably, the phrase stuck in her head the rest of the evening…'sweet dreams.' She was pretty sure her dreams that night would be sweet, alright…and incredibly frustrating._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_The evening arrived, and Kara decided to sit with Sarah this time. She'd chosen a simple pants and sweater combo, but the pants were of quality and the sweater was soft. The grey, narrow-pinstripe slacks fit in all the right places to set off her toned body, and the red top was cashmere—a wrap with a deep neckline, draped close in cut. Black jet beads, triple-twisted in different lengths around her neck, drew attention to her face and her other assets, swinging lightly along her chest as she moved. In a concession she thought she'd live to regret, Kara had even slipped on a pair of Sarah's black dress pumps—narrow, pointed, and vamped to be certain a woman's retreating walk had the appropriate flourish. _

_The hall was packed; Apollo was expanding his professional reputation quickly. Known as innovative and impassioned, the top military brass had begun singing Lee Adama's praises for the new battle strategy techniques he was developing at the War College. Many cadets wanted to hear the thoughts of this up-and-coming officer who'd already garnered so much attention early in his career. Despite the fact she actually knew very little about the man, Kara felt proud of him. He was driven—probably something to do with his father—and he seemed to have a strong sense of purpose._

_Lee moved through interesting explanations of his latest ideas and shared techniques for cadets to use in developing war plans. Suddenly, Kara realized he was staring at her, smiling, saying her name aloud—he was asking her to stand up and be recognized. Confused and a little uncomfortable, she complied, smiling in defense to hide the fact she had no idea what was going on. She'd not soon forget what Lee Adama said next._

"_Cadets, I wanted to acknowledge Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace—she's going to become a legend in your lifetime, so mark it well you saw her tonight. Cadet Thrace came up with a modification to the maneuver I presented during my last visit, and it was so successful, it's been named, in part, after her—'The Starbuck-Apollo Vertical.' The first phase of tests has been completed. The Admiral Review Board was so enamored with it, they have insisted the maneuver become a new sim routine for all nuggets and cadets, beginning next year. Please congratulate Starbuck on her achievement." Lee began clapping; the others in the audience followed, accompanied by a few whistles and "bravo's." Adama gestured for Kara to come up to the stage; she couldn't decide if she was glad she came well-dressed, or pissed off that this day, of all days, she had chosen to look feminine instead of officer material. _

_With that careless grace Kara always possessed, she stepped up beside Lee, making a crack about his presentation. Everyone laughed; there was more clapping; and Apollo glided his arm around her back, tilting her just enough off-balance she had to grab him around the waist to remain still. She felt his hip pressed against hers, and thought she might moan aloud from the sensation as energy crackled between them. _

"_Now, boys and girls, I hope you noticed my call sign is first in that name; I'm the one on top in any vertical maneuver." She laughed, that deep-chested laugh. Lee's eyes were transfixed on her lips; she could just sense it._

"_Only because you are the 'lesser' contributor—in naming conventions, the primary designer is listed second." More cheers and whistles. Lee was beaming—the smile that could make you forget any other commitment you'd ever made…_

"_Alright, cadets—that concludes my presentation. There's still time to get your fun in before curfew, so get going!" Lee kept his arm around Kara as they walked down the steps, away from the stage. Lightening and Musket greeted them near the door._

"_Great job, as always. They'll be damned lucky to have you as CAG on the Eos!" Musket slapped him on the back as Apollo dropped his arm from Kara._

_Lee stole a look at her after the assignment was mentioned; she gave no hint of acknowledgement._

_They climbed into Lee's ground vehicle, headed for the restaurant, with Tom riding shotgun and the two women in back. Kara couldn't stop looking at Lee's profile, feeling the tenor of his voice vibrate inside her, just below her collarbone. They all talked about the maneuver, asking Starbuck to explain what she'd said, and wondering how Apollo decided to incorporate parts of the idea into his design._

_Once they'd arrived, Sarah slipped in quickly beside Tom on one side of the booth, leaving Kara to follow suit with Lee. She was lightheaded again, so near his intoxicating skin, but she resolved she would have to rely on her native courage, rather than the pseudo-bravado brought on by liquor in the veins. At the time, and even now, Kara couldn't remember the conversations of the night. Lee had taken her hand in his own, under the table, and the energy kept building from that point on. By the time dessert had arrived, he had his arm around her waist, and she'd turned slightly at an angle to lean backward against his chest. There were no long discussions—ninety minutes after their arrival, Adama had somehow managed to politely end the evening with Sarah and Tom, who arranged for a commercial transport back to the officer's hotel on the edge of the campus. Lee grasped Kara's hand tightly in his own as they also left the café, pulling her onto a nearby outdoor path covered with a honeysuckle-drenched archway. _

_Facing her, he wrapped his hands around her cheeks, eyes exploring her own for signs of permission. She tilted her mouth, in response, and involuntarily moaned at the feel of his mouth over hers. He tasted a little of chocolate and mint; his tongue masterfully swirled against hers, until she was deep in his arms, trembling from the potency of the kiss. Her mind left her, as emotion swelled. The kissing turned more frantic, more intense; it felt as though he was exchanging his soul with hers. Hands began gliding across sensitive touchpoints. She could feel how hard he was, and pressed her hips closer, moving in a rhythm that left him breathless._

"_We…I need to…oh gods, Kara, I want you so much—" he moaned as she licked the inner curves of his ear._

"_Me too, Lee—please. Please take me back to your—" he was feverishly kissing her again, and she let more feral sounds escape her throat. His mouth found the most erogenous spot on her neck, nestled near her hairline towards the back. It was the one that brought her close to climax as he sucked her skin and teased her with his dancing tongue._

"_Lee…gods…now…I can't…I have to have more of y-you." Her hands went to hold his head with hers, locking eyes, imploring him to finish what he started._

_Every stoplight on the way to the officer's hotel was a new moment of exploration. Apollo seemed to know, instinctively, every responsive area on Kara's body, and he'd caressed or kissed them all before they managed to sneak upstairs to Lee's room. She knew, without asking, he was risking a great deal by taking Kara to his bed; no one could see her with him now._

_Once inside the door, his lips were at her neck again, and she felt the electrifying pulse along his scalp as she slid her fingers languidly through his hair. She let her hand drop, tracing the outline of his hardness straining against his clothes. His head tilted back, a primal cry gasped out as she stroked him through the material. Deftly, she undid the clasps, letting the slacks fall to the floor as she pulled his briefs down to admire his length. His shaft was intensely hot, the blood burning with his desire; she stroked him, smiling as he moaned and began bucking against her. _

_Lee pushed her against the door, rapidly removing her clothes. She heard his intake of breath as he took in her form, then bent to savor her nipples. She parted her legs slightly, letting him slide against her, wetness coating his shaft. He crushed his lips against hers, and she marveled at the intensity of emotion he continued to bring out with each probing clench, tongues meeting again and again. He pulled away, slightly, fingers feather-light on her cheek, blue windows of fire peering into green. "You are so beautiful, Kara…so breathtaking. I…"_

_She knew he was really asking something, because he was noble, and he wouldn't want to compel her to make the next step based on sexual need ridden off the rails. She looked down at his mouth, then back up into his gaze. "Take me, Lee. I...I want to feel you..."_

_He closed his eyes, kissing her once more as he lifted her up and guided her down over his member. Braced by the door, she wrapped her legs around his waist, letting her breasts swing against his chest. She knew this was only the first coupling; judging the level of their sexual appetites, they wouldn't be sated until the early hours of the morning. He was feral, desperate as he thrust into her, powerful drives deeper each time. She knew she'd climax after a few strokes. Kara had been frustratingly on the edge all evening, her underwear soaked with pent-up lust. He bucked recklessly into her, letting her back slide up and down the door as he was urged to his climax. "Kara," he moaned in her ear as he came, bringing her to orgasm another time just from the sound rasping across her eardrum. _

_Not even winded, Lee led them to the bedroom, where he lit candles, set an evocative music compilation, and actually lifted her into his arms to carry her to the bed. He was a romantic at heart, Kara thought, and somehow that moved her. _

_The second time, they savored each other, something Kara had never allowed herself to do with a man until now. She knew it was the path to connection, to commitment, to wanting something you might not be able to have. With Lee, however, she'd traveled well down that road—they were already tightly linked, already emotionally committed in a way defying explanation. That was the meaning of the announcement at the presentation—"Starbuck-Apollo." A pair. He had known it as surely as she did, and pronounced to the outer world. There'd be no going back. She marveled at Lee's skill as they lingered with one another, the way he stirred yearning in every part of her being. She came over and over, in waves. It had never been this way with anyone else._

_The third time shifted into the realm of spiritually moving, and Kara realized she was in unexplored territory. He was inside her, moving above her, his arm clasped behind her shoulders, holding her so close she could feel his heart pumping each time he penetrated her. His intense, murmuring sounds let her know his feelings were raw and bared. There were no defenses left. As he neared the crest, overcome with emotion, he spoke, the words clear in her ear as she was clasped tenderly to him. "I…could…love you…Kara Thrace." Tears rushed and spilled over; she had no boundaries left between them either. "Yes…Lee…" she whispered back. He came at that moment, his cheek pressed against her own, and as he gently rested on top of her, spent, she could feel his body shaking slightly, tears pooling in nook of her collarbone. They held fast, no words spoken, crying for reasons neither could completely understand. It had all been so beautiful. Relaxed, christened in the fire now temporarily in embers, they fell into a sound sleep, foreheads lightly touching one another as they lay in a close embrace._

_Hours later, Kara awoke to the sound of rain softly pelting the windows. Lee was still asleep; she carefully extracted herself to make some coffee in the room and take a shower. As she stepped into the tiled enclosure, she felt her body remind her of the exertions of the previous night; the pulsating hot water comforted sore muscles, kept her mind blank and focused only on the experience. She was in a trance, in Lee's thrall—floating, no tether to the real world. _

_The sound of the glass door caused her to open her eyes; she felt want rise up again from her core as she anticipated Lee's touch. He didn't disappoint; his fingers reached up to stroke her neck as she tilted her head backward, then his hands moved in long sweeps across her skin, stimulating her nipples, her abdomen, her thighs. She actually felt dizzy, leaning back into him for support as his lips and tongue sought out the magical trigger near the base of her neck. She climaxed, surprising them both; they were so in tune now he could bring her to orgasm without other stimulation. Lee pulled Kara around to face him, arms fully embracing, eyes piercing. They stood that way for a lost period of time, the water spilling against them; he stroked her face, kissing her forehead, her eyes, the tip of her nose, and with fervent longing, her lips. _

_She realized he was saying good-bye; he was supposed to board the Eos within 48 hours. A poignancy was conveyed with each touch, and a heaviness of heart—he didn't want to leave her, almost couldn't bear to leave her now. She felt her face sting with tears again—gods, this man really had her number. The ache pressing in her chest made her want to jump out of her skin, or run out the door and not look back. It was going to be overwhelming, and she hated the sense of helplessness, being swept along by events outside of her control, experiencing a depth of emotion she normally kept at bay. Still, she found herself unable to move, never wanting to be further from this man than where she stood right now. _

_He made love to her—she recognized it was transforming into love for both of them—taking her from behind. Hands pressed against the tile, she arched her back and let longing emanate, guttural cries in staccato rhythms as he penetrated her again and again, pulling almost fully out before colliding against her, communicating his soul's want and primal need. His fingers strummed her sensitive nub at the right moment so that they came together, ragged breaths mixing with steam from the water. Shortly thereafter, their legs gave way, and they slid down into tiled floor, clasping one another in exhaustion._

_An hour later, both dressed and outwardly put together, at least, Lee took Kara's hand and guided her to sit next to him on the couch. He intertwined his fingers in hers, resting on his lap._

"_Kara—"_

"_Lee, you don't have to say anything, really. I know you have to go."_

"_Gods, you have to have a little more patience for those of us who are not as quick-tongued!" He winked as he said it, but Kara understood she was, in her own way, trying to put the walls back up; he was begging her, silently, not to go there just yet._

_He started again. "Kara, I'm starting my assignment on Eos in two days." She nodded. "What Musket didn't say…" his voice caught, and he paused to steady it. "He didn't tell you the Eos is going into deep space. They're building…it's—it's top secret. I don't even know all of the aspects yet. But I was told that I had to expect to be space-bound for at least 12 months."_

_He studied her expression. Kara wanted to be stoic, cavalier even, but she just couldn't muster the backbone necessary. Her eyes told him she didn't realize before that she might not see him or even speak to him for a long time after today; it seemed cruel, really, to bring her so far and then disappear, as though it was never real at all._

"_You might have shared that bit of news sooner."_

"_I…I know. It was…selfish. But I was so—you reach me at the core, Kara Thrace, you really do." His eyes were glistening; he knew crying was pointless, in this moment, but his emotions were so close to the surface, he couldn't keep them all in check._

_Her face softened; he was in the grip of this 'thing' between them as much as she was._

"_I'm going to miss you, Lee Adama." She reached up to hold his chiseled face. "The past 24 hours…I can't describe it. I won't forget it. You've made me question…" she stopped. The words were coming from a place unbidden and foreign to her. "I'll never know, now, if I can ever love flying as much as…" she couldn't finish it. Was Kara Thrace actually going to declare her love to a man she barely knew, when she got down to it? Could such a connection be love? It was so powerful. So terrifying. So—beyond words._

_Lee realized where she was going, and was noble enough not to ask her to press forward. Instead, he stood up, trying to look away, keep from locking eyes with her again. "I'll never forget either, Kara. I doubt I'll ever have an experience as soul-shifting as this has been."_

_She let the words hover, then sink into her skin, her brain burned with the meaning of them. "When you get back…" she started._

"_I'd like to contact you, Kara, when I return. See where…I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but I want…" he relinquished his discipline. He had to see her eyes, read her thoughts._

"_If there's a chance, when I get back, that you might still have feelings…I hope you'll let me know. I'm certain I'll still have strong feelings for Kara Thrace." He smiled; it was awkward and forced, but it was time to leave and he didn't want her to be remembering only the heavy conversation from the morning he departed._

_Kara said nothing, nodding in affirmation._

"_There's no way to make calls back to the fleet while out on a mission like this, but a transport comes by once or twice in the period and brings letters back and forth. If you can—" Lee handed her a piece of paper with the military carrier code written down. _

"_Will you write me?" It would be a commitment; she wondered if he would make it._

"_Yes." He said it without hesitation or preface._

"_Then, Lee Adama, I'll write you too." She smiled, sad but genuine._

_He stepped up and pulled her tightly to him, kissing her hair. "Good hunting, Starbuck."_

"_Good hunting, Apollo." _

_His mouth sought out hers one more time; again she had the sensation they were exchanging soul breaths. Then he stepped out the door._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Seven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee walked quickly down the main connection bridge between the officer's quarters and the military operations section of the ship. He was much lighter on his feet now, thanks to Kat and Helo. After the first four weeks of workouts, Karl had volunteered to assist Kat in getting Apollo back in shape. Lee suspected it was the man's way of working out his pent-up anger at the Commander; even though Karl understood the reasons for the decision to jump away from New Caprica, he was still conflicted over the outcome. Karl missed Sharon intensely, and the worry weighed him down every day. Beating the crap out of Lee regularly in boxing seemed to exorcize some of Helo's worst demons; between Karl and Louanne, Lee wondered if he was going to get in shape or collapse from over-exertion. They both pushed him hard—beyond his past experiences in physical endurance—insisting it was the best way to keep Lee clear-headed and able to sleep each night. The pressures related to the mission were acute; every day that passed was another day the settlers might not survive to see the one to follow. Despite the sore muscles and occasional dizzy spells, Lee felt more in control of his body, and he confessed it did translate into every other aspect of his life. Battle plans were tighter; operational decisions more precise; directives easier to deliver without hesitation. It was a satisfying sensation—he had really missed it. Apollo, leader of the military, was back; Lee Adama, principled man, had also returned.

In what even Lee had to admit was an unusual act, he was hurrying to an appointment—with a Priestess on the Pegasus. Over 26 years, Adama steadfastly avoided religious ceremonies or spiritual prognostications from "oracles." He was an agnostic, when optimistic about life, and an atheist when depressed. Apparently, his dream-self leaned in the opposite direction. For the past five days, Lee experienced a recurring vision. In it, he was prompted to visit the Priestess; she would have important news to share with him. He ignored the pull, at first, but by the last evening, swore he would try anything to stop the dream from coming to him a sixth time.

He stepped into the makeshift temple ensconced in the lowest level of the ship. The Pegasus, like Galactica, had a formal temple built into the main personal quarters level, and there were Priestesses who still performed ceremonies and rituals regularly. Oracle castings, however, were not permitted in those temple areas. The military believed these "sessions" were too distracting and preyed upon the minds of vulnerable service men and women who were frightened and would seek assurances from anywhere.

A older woman greeted him; she was not a Priestess Lee recognized, and he wondered how long she had been aboard his ship.

"Please sit, Apollo. I've been waiting for you." Lee looked at her quizzically; this was going to be an interesting few minutes.

"Lay out your hands." Lee did as asked. She placed two religious relics in his palms: the rune for the Sun on the right, and the icon for the nymph on the left. The woman moved a candle flush with his inner palms.

"You are not a believer, Lee Adama?"

"No."

"You will be. The time has come for you to make your presence known. The others—Roslin, your father, the Cylons—they read but they miss the clues. They underestimate you. Fortunately for them, you will triumph, regardless. They will owe you a large debt.

"I don't—"

She held her hand up firmly in his face. "No. You may not talk. The gods want you to listen. Listen, Lee Adama!" The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shivered.

"In the ancient texts, Apollo's first great miracle was the destruction of the demon the Python. The city built where the Python fell became Delphi. You commissioned a masterful oracle there, always embodied by a woman. The woman's title came from the victory over the Python—she became the Pythia. This oracle was a powerful seer, and many came to hear her visions. Eventually, the Pythia wrote all of her insights in a book we know as the _Scrolls of Pythia_. It is dedicated to the god Apollo; he is the source for her divine knowledge. Do you see? It is no different now. You are the source of the divine knowledge; only you can manifest the prophecies into reality.

"Apollo is the god of the Sun, yes. He is also the god of healing, and the god of negotiation—he destroys and he builds, as the situation dictates. When he fires his arrows, they never miss; but he is magnanimous, willing to talk out differences after getting the opponent's attention. You are like this, Lee. It is essential you keep all your powers at your disposal—attack, heal, negotiate.

"You need these powers to lead the people, Lee. Apollo is the god of colonization and settlement; he guides his followers to the fertile grounds for expansion and renewal. The Admiral and Roslin believe they are the selected leaders for the settlers, but this is only partially true. The torch will be passed to you. Be ready for it.

"This one—"the priestess pointed to the nymph. "Nereids—sea nymph. A fish out of water. She believes she needs the sea to nourish her, make her whole. The sea is figurative of course; ships travel in space now, so this woman believes she must swim in the ocean of space.

"You are bound to her, Apollo; only you can give her full human form, pull her into the realm of man. Before you chose this incarnation, you chose her—do you understand? Starbuck—the nymph—you put your divine soul in her hands. It was to let her know she could restore it in its rightful place—once she embraced her human form she could walk up and return the soul to its proper owner. This was a great risk, and you are in agony because of it. She forgot what she possesses; in her carelessness, she has trampled over your gift of yourself, whipping you about as she flails in the ocean.

Since you are divine, it matters not. If you manifest her full human form, she'll remember. When she remembers, and your soul is restored, then the next phase finally begins. None will stand against you; the bond is too strong and overpowers all other energies in its path.

To fulfill your promise to her, and hers to you, when the time comes, stop at _nothing_ to complete the rescue mission--bring her back to you, and you alone. Then remain motionless. MOTIONLESS! Let her help you; reverse the roles. The rescuer becomes the rescued. Only this way will your souls completely reunite. "

"Why would I—would Apollo—make such a promise? Why would she?" He had to ask the Priestess, clarify the point. He had indeed been in agony; could someone, even metaphorically, hand over one's essence, if it caused such pain? Surely a god would be wiser…

"You made the promise because you loved her, and she could not love herself. Apollo thought this was the only way to break the cycle, start the forward flow of time again. He had faith—divine faith—in Starbuck. The god Poseidon created her to have no equal, on land or in the sea, but something happened during her birth, and she was unable to overcome her initial fears, the initial pain of being born. Apollo the healer, believed this could be changed. You are still fighting to change it."

"How long have—has Apollo—been in this struggle?"

"Many cycles. Too many. That is why you were sent to me—to give you better counsel."

"How will I…how can Apollo bring her back?"

"You are not listening! Rescue her. Then allow her to rescue you—be motionless. It will go against your very being, but it is the only way. The time will not last that long. Once she restores your soul, the rest will make itself known.

"Go now. We are finished. Take the relics; keep them in your possession at all times." With that, the Priestess got up from the table and vanished outside the door, leaving Lee alone and stunned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	6. Ch 6: Fortune's Yoke

Chapter 6: Fortune's Yoke

**AN: **I am trying a new method for identifying flashbacks, to limit the length of italicized sections. The past timeframe will be noted in _**bold/italics**_; the scene(s) will follow; then there will be a break _(XXXXs),_ also marked in italics. Hopefully this will be a little easier on the eyes.

**Chapter 6: Fortune's Yoke**

"_If you prick us, do we not bleed? ...If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?" Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare_

"_The future is my friend. It hurts, but it treats me well. Take hold and be its master." I'm Alive, Seal_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Seven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee started to walk back towards the CIC, but, feeling disoriented, turned into a side hallway and leaned against the wall, breathing shallowly. The past thirty minutes—was that conversation real? Did she somehow drug him—was the incense hallucinogenic? He slammed his head into the metal wall, several times, trying to see if he could shake some sense into it. Nothing happened. He still felt altered, his pulse thready and his vision slightly out of focus. Maybe it was a drug—damned charlatan! He knew it was foolish to see a Priestess. Lee wasn't even sure she was a Priestess—after all, he hadn't recognized her—maybe it was someone playing tricks on him? Adama decided to rush back, inspect the room for clues.

What happened next would linger in Lee's mind for the rest of his life, linked to the experience of the prophecy. He couldn't find the room. Where he would have sworn he stepped into a hatch, there was only bulkhead. Lee pulled a passer-by aside, asking if there was a room nearby—"Level E, Room 5201 A"—and the man shook his head, a little fearful of the crazed Commander holding his arm so tightly.

"This is Level E, Sir, but as you know…there are never more than 200 spaces per level. There couldn't be a room 201. I've been on this ship since it was commissioned—I would know. Are you…alright, Sir? Can I help you get somewhere?"

Lee shook his head, dropping the soldier's arm absent-mindedly. Of course…there aren't more than 200 spaces…why hadn't that stood out to him earlier? Where—or who—how had he obtained the location? His thoughts were jumbled; he couldn't bring them back together. What the frak was happening to him?

"Uh…sorry, Petty Officer…Logan. I'm fine—just a little tired. I'm going to get some extra rack time…right now. Thank you for your assistance."

The man walked down the corridor, shaking his head slightly as Lee moved in the opposite direction. _ I really do need to lie down_, Apollo thought. _ I need to pull it together_.

He made it back to his quarters, feeling exhausted. After a call to Helo to take the next watch, Apollo stripped down to his briefs and collapsed into the bed, crawling under the covers. Nestling into the sheets, letting himself drift, he found himself lingering over the Priestess' words. _Maybe I should try talking to Karl about this…I don't know if it means anything…he'll probably figure I have a "god" complex…._

When Lee finally awoke, twelve hours had passed. Frak! How did he keep finding himself in these atypical situations today? He picked up the com, trying to control the panic in his voice. Karl answered.

"Ka—Lieutenant Agathon, it's the Commander. Sit rep?"

"Well, sleepy-head, nice to hear you remembered me here in the CIC. That one shift turned into two…"

"Yeah—I mean, Yes. I apologize, Lieutenant. I'm not sure…"

"Sir, it's alright—I was ribbing you. Command—Lee—have you seen the doc? You've been pushing yourself hard—well, okay, all of us hard—but maybe you're coming down with something." Apollo could hear genuine concern in Helo's voice.

"I…that's a good idea. I'll head over there…shortly, before the next shift starts. Helo?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Something…something strange happened today. I know you'll need some rack time after shift, but could we grab some time after to…I just need to run some things by you, get your opinion."

"Yep. I'll swing by for our morning run at 0700—assuming the doc gives you the all-clear when you talk with him." Karl was wondering about the shakiness in Lee's voice, and hoped the man would follow through on his promise to get a check-up.

"Done. Karl—thanks."

"Anytime, Sir."

Lee hung up the receiver and sank back into the mattress, arms crossed behind his head. He had another two hours before he should be on the CIC deck, and he was trying to quell that familiar feeling of longing, the way his body would quiver from head to toe with an aching pull. It was Kara; the words of the prophecy had pushed something back to the surface in his heart, the abiding feeling he was meant to be right next to her, all the time.

It was ironic…judging by the long stretches they spent physically apart, Lee had to wonder how he and Kara could be considered "bound together"— by the gods, by fate, or by any other measure. Truthfully, the two had spent more time in separate locations than with each other, even after the end of the worlds. _Who's fault has that been, _he reminded himself…

He was forced to acknowledge, when alone with his thoughts, the pain had been unremitting over the years. Each parting had been riddled with grief and bottled-up emotions…it did suggest some significant connection at work. Lee had given something profound to Kara, early on in their relationship, and maybe it was more than just his heart. Maybe he really had entrusted his divine soul to her. It would explain the disquieting undercurrent in all of his relationships with other women, the reason he seemed incapable of giving anyone else his whole heart or even his whole attention. He'd been afflicted with this "thing" for as long as he could remember. Certainly ever since his assignment on the Eos. _Eos_.

_**Sit Rep (past): Battlestar Eos, four months into assignment; 70 light-years from Caprica**_

"Captain Adama, report."

"No signs of outpost discovery, Sir. CAP was quiet. Sentry placements normal."

"Thank you, Captain. Now, at ease. Lee—please have a seat."

Lee was a little startled; since he began this mission, the Commander of the Eos had never asked him to spend time in conversation or shared a drink. They were in the Commander's quarters; he went to take the chair beside the man's desk, but George Thornton gestured towards the couch. As Adama sat, Thornton poured two shots of ambrosia and brought them over—along with the bottle—taking his place in a large chair to the left of the Captain.

"I imagine you're surprised we're having this little 'moment of fellowship?'"

"No, Sir…I mean, yes—well, there's no expectation…"

"It's alright, Lee. For this conversation, we'll just be on a personal name basis, okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I'm sure you've been wondering why you're assigned here. It's quiet—hell, boring, when you get down to it, for a fighter pilot leading his first team."

"I serve at the pleasure of the Admiral Board and the President of the Twelve colonies, Sir. I'm honored to—"

"Cut the crap, son. I'm not putting this one in the log books; we need to be able to speak directly right now."

Lee paused, tilting his head slightly before speaking again. "Alright…yes, it's been pretty dull." He felt relieved to actually be able to say it; after all of his training, to be out in the middle of nowhere with no other human outposts in at least 30 light years' distance—it was starting to feel like a punishment. He didn't believe in all of that "gods' judgment" nonsense, but he was uneasy, as though leaving _her _had set something in motion—or more accurately, stopped something in motion—and he wasn't going to be able to put it all right until he was with Kara once more.

The Commander nodded in agreement at Lee's outward confession. "I figured as much. I think it's time to read you in on the whole mission; I can assign you some additional duties, then, and you'll be prepared, in case…" he stopped, taking down the rest of the shot and pouring another. Lee followed suit; apparently, this was going to be quite a revelation.

"As you know, we've been building a machine prototype out here—hence the sizable contingent of scientists and engineers. The Eos was assigned to provide the base operations and key protection for the mission. What you don't know is that the prototype is a weapon. First of its kind. Designed to do one thing—penetrate a basestar and generate one-strike destruction."

Lee was immediately intrigued. "One strike take-outs? Without a nuclear detonation? How does it work?"

"I'm not an expert on the technical aspects, and I don't want to be. They told us—"the Commander took in a breath, clearly pensive—"it's an 'e-bomb.' "

"I know the Colonial military tested a design a few years ago. It's a launched explosive device that initiates an electromagnetic pulse, wiping out all electrically powered equipment, usually damaging circuits—especially micro-circuits—beyond repair."

Thornton stared at Lee appreciatively. "Yes, that's right—you have an excellent memory, Captain. This prototype, however, takes the process a step further, to create a wider range of impact—taking out, say, two basestars, the Cylons within them, and all nearby raiders simultaneously."

"But…without an explosive device for energy—that would require atom cooling, wouldn't it? We've never…I wasn't aware we…" Lee stammered a bit. To generate an electromagnetic pulse of that scope, a laser would be needed, and then a significant energy source.

"The device uses a laser to cool the atoms in one section of the enemy ship's metal hull. It doesn't take very long; by the time the laser might be detected, the second step's being initiated. The cooled metal atoms function as a superconductor; an intense, short burst of energy is supplied to generate the superconductor-derived electromagnetic fields. This creates a rapid, high-intensity electromagnetic pulse of microwaves. The transient surge destroys all electronic equipment and other electronic circuits in its path. The radius can be 1,600 square miles."

"Can you cool a sufficient number of atoms to actually create the superconductor?" It seemed so improbable to Lee…

"Yes. But…that's where the testing comes into play. We have to create a 'superconductor space' of the right size, then provide the correct burst of energy to achieve the desired effect across a wide-enough path."

"…and you'd need all vipers on the battlestar at the time of the burst, so the battlestar could jump, or any humans in that radius would be 'fried'—microwaves at that order of magnitude destroy biological tissue." Lee was appropriately awed by the significance of the military application, but he was also sobered by the prospects of collateral damage.

Exactly so, Lee. The timing of everything is important in effective deployment of a weapon like this—when to spin up the FTL drive, how long to focus the laser, how much power the battlestar must generate to activate the superconductor properties and still be able to jump…it requires precise planning and execution."

"So…why not just rely on the explosive device for the e-bomb then, Sir? It would be more reliable and less complicated—fewer things could go wrong."

"Because we know…we understand how the Cylons operate. They never send one basestar when three would do. If you're outnumbered and outgunned, this could even out the playing field again, buy a Commander time to successfully end a battle engagement and still get out in one piece to fight another day."

Lee nodded slowly. It made sense…but he couldn't shake his sense of foreboding. He studied Thornton's face, and something else dawned on him…the Commander was nonplussed by the prospect as well. In fact, based on Thornton's body language—

"You've actually seen it work."

"Yeah…once. It was—intimidating. They didn't know then how to control the response…"

"What happened—it seems to have shaken you up pretty badly, Sir, if you don't mind me saying so."

"No, Lee, you're quite right; I think you'd have a similar response. The first time, the burst was too large. We didn't realize…we weren't prepared to jump. The pulse knocked out everything…we were floating dead in space. Even the emergency generators couldn't kick in. There was no way to…we couldn't communicate with the outside world, tell them we needed help.

"The hull protected us from most of the microwave effects, but not all, so the food supplies were damaged. There was no way to sustain the life support systems, beyond what was already in the ambient air, so carbon-dioxide levels rose exponentially and the temperature steadily dropped for the next two days. Everyone would have perished, except a large mining ship came through the sector and spotted us. The landing bays had locked open, so they sent a transport to investigate, and we were fortunately rescued."

"I'm…that sounds harrowing, Sir. Glad you and your crew made it out."

"Thank you, Lee."

"So…we're this far out in space to protect the civilian population, in the event of an accident?"

Yes. That's also why the runs are limited, with only two scheduled transport drops within 12 months."

"I understand."

"I don't mean to pry, Adama, but I get the impression the isolation has been a bit wearing for you; I thought it would help if you had some of the background information, some context."

Lee swallowed hard; was he that easy to read? He'd struggled with missing Kara, but he didn't think anyone would notice.

"Come again, Sir?"

"You…well, you apparently talk in your sleep sometimes. I'm not asking for details; we all have that person who gets under our skin, and there's no reason to expect you'd be an exception."

"I…I wasn't aware it was impacting my performance, Sir." Lee was anxious and perplexed; where was this conversation going?

The Commander slapped him lightly on the back. "No, Lee, nothing like that. You've done a great job as CAG. The men remain engaged and in good spirits—no small feat out here. I wanted to offer you something—"

"That's not necessary." Adama was starting to shift his weight nervously on the couch.

"It might be. Look, Lee, when we tested the weapon the first time—the one I observed—a civilian scientist died. He was in a small lab ship, taking measurements and filming the event; the pulse wave killed him within seconds. It was tragic. The military—they compensated the family for the loss, to the extent such a thing is possible—and secured an agreement of confidentiality, to protect Colonial interests. They didn't disclose the actual cause of death or the reason the scientist was out in deep space, but the military had to provide some explanation, given the state of…of the corpse.

Unfortunately, one of the family members decided to take matters into his own hands, to find out what really happened, and contacted the Aias Organization."

"The terrorist group? What would that accomplish?"

"This man—Mr. Meridian—is a pacifist. Whatever the intent, Meridian was sure the military was testing a new weapon, and he wanted the project stopped, at all costs. The pacifists don't believe the Cylons will come back, and while conflicts do erupt on Colonial worlds, these are limited—there's no need for weapons of large magnitude, in their minds.

"As you know, the Aias Organization specializes in conspiracy theories, stirring up the populace with untruths. They want to limit military capability, while expanding their own considerable attack skills. It was an unfortunate meeting of minds."

"Have there been reports of Aias activities recently, related to this mission?"

"Yes. At first, the chatter focused on rumors; their information was spotty at best. Now, though—somehow Aias has gotten a bead on our location and what we're doing here."

"How long before we might expect a 'visit?' "

"It would take a team two months, minimum, to assemble the right ships, supplies, and crew. Based on the intel, Aias has probably already completed this series of steps. Assuming the master ship has FTL capability—knowing the crew has pretty accurate coordinates—as near as we can tell, they would likely jump into near space, maybe a half, maybe one full light year away. It would take them some time to find our signals, get through the scramblers. Aias recruits the best, tossing a lot of money at people—I'm guessing the team would have found someone who can potentially hack into our non-combat defense systems."

"Finding us isn't enough, though—they would have to have a plan of attack, a way to destroy the weapon—"

"Or capture it for their own use. Mr. Meridian made a lot of foolish assumptions when he contacted the Aias Organization. He has no idea how dangerous the situation could quickly become for the twelve colonies, if this weapon lands in the wrong hands."

"How can I help, Sir? I…wait. I see. That's why I was selected, then, to create 'out-of-the-box' defense maneuvers?"

"Yes. We've got a little time, but we need to prepare for overt attacks, covert terrorist missions, and two possibilities—the weapon has been selected for destruction, or for capture. The Admiral Group determined you were one of the brightest tacticians we have, and we needed someone who could navigate effectively through guerrilla assaults."

"Understood, Sir. I'll begin work on the military plans immediately for the air group. Would four days be acceptable—we can meet and discuss the options I've developed by then?"

"Timeline accepted, Lee."

"What's permissible to share with my crew, Commander?"

"You may reveal terrorist attacks are expected, and they must protect the perimeter and the battlestar at all costs."

"How large is the weapon? Can it be transported onto the Eos, if necessary?"

"It's damned small, actually—that's the ironic thing. It's the size of a briefcase. To answer your other question…the weapon's already on the ship—we couldn't test without learning how to incorporate it into a modern battlestar's systems, so that was the first step. The installation was finished two months ago."

"I'd like to see the equipment, at some point, if you'd be willing to share that, Commander—quantum physics was a favorite subject of mine, so to see the construction would be…"

Consider it done, Lee. Now…about my offer."

"Sir, I see no reason to…"

"Look, son, I expect the next months of this assignment to become very tough. I thought you might want to talk to this person you've been mumbling about in your dreams, see if you can't settle your soul a bit. We need one hundred and ten percent of your focus out here, from this point on. Nothing's affected your performance, but I want to be certain nothing will. To that end, I've arranged for you to use the deep connection security communications channel—you can place a call to her, and to a family member, if you like."

"I—I'm not sure what to say. I regret you think I'm off my game..."

"I didn't say that, Lee. I've been around a long time; I can read a man's state of mind. You're the best person for the job ahead of us, but it's going to be a difficult first command for you…a difficult situation for all of us, no matter how seasoned. Sometimes, we have to remember what we're putting ourselves in harm's way for, and it isn't for the Admiral Board, the President, or the principles of democracy. It's for the people we love, the ones we already know we'd give our lives to protect. Make the calls, Captain—I didn't think I'd have to order you to do this, but if needed—"

"No, Sir. Not at all. Thank you. It's—I know it's quite an exception being made on my behalf."

I'll get my com officer in here to set up the contact; then you can have some privacy. Stay, collect your thoughts—the com officer will make his way over in about 10 minutes."

Lee nodded, standing up to salute the Commander as he prepared to leave.

"Private conversation, remember? A handshake might be a better way to express yourself right now." The man smiled; his gut told him this was the correct move, helping out Lee Adama. Commander Thornton had seen the weapon in action, and deep down, he was afraid—for all of them. The arrival of the Aias Organization would be a harrowing experience; his gut was telling him that too. The Aias plans had to be stopped. Thornton's orders were to destroy the military asset, rather than risk its capture; frighteningly, no one was sure what would happen in the event of the destruction. Dismantlement wasn't an option either; if Aias took the prototype, they could eventually re-create the missing components. The choices were limited and dicey. The least Thornton could do was make sure they all had a fighting chance—which rested in large part on the shoulders of Lee Adama. He had to be sharp, and he had to be ready to do whatever was necessary; Captain Adama was about to experience his trial by fire.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee sat down again on the couch, trembling slightly. He'd decided he would contact Kara and then his brother Zak. Those were the two voices he wanted to hear the most. Lee had written Kara several letters, all sitting neatly on a shelf in the transport office, waiting for a ship to arrive to bring them back home to Caprica. Saying what he wanted to say over the wireless was going to be a lot more difficult; the letters had been hard enough, without facing how she might respond in real time. Still, the longing he'd felt…gods, it would be so wonderful to just talk to her.

The com officer arrived, and Lee handed him the transponder information. In a moment, the man gestured to indicate Kara was on the line. Lee stepped forward, taking the headset from the officer, barely registering the man's retreat from the room.

"K-Kara?"

"Lee—gods, is that you, Apollo?"

"Yeah, the very one."

"What's the special occasion? They never let someone use the deep security channel for personal calls. You must honestly be a god!" She chuckled softly…nervously, Lee thought.

"Well, apparently I've been talking in my sleep…" _Great move, Adama—frakwit! Of all the things to confess…_

"In your sleep? Having a few wet dreams, fly-boy?" He could feel the smirk through the 70 light-year distance, but her voice was tinged with sweetness and a knowingness—like someone who'd been having similar distractions.

"Okay, Apollo, okay—true confessions. I _might_ have had a dream or two myself about a certain pilot I spent some quality time with a few months ago—make that _long_ months ago." The tone was soft, sensual.

"I—gods, Kara. I've really missed you. It's been—you've been on my mind ever since I arrived."

"Yeah?" Hope resonated in the word.

"Yeah. I did write you by the way, four times…it's just no transport has been here to get them to their rightful destination."

"Aw, Captain, I'm touched—_really_. You're smitten—how cute. Love poems, perhaps? Song Lyrics?" _More loving mocking from Starbuck…_

"Well, if you don't want to read them, I'm sure I can pull them back out…"

"No, no, Apollo. Can't have take-backs. Those are my property—delivered or not."

"And the man who wrote them…is he your property too?"

"Are you asking, or offering, Lee?"

Damn her—she was quicker with smart come-backs than any woman he'd ever known. He'd meant it genuinely, but maybe she knew that; maybe she was reading him faster than he was himself.

"Offering."

Silence. _Frak, Lee, you messed up—millions of miles away, and you just put your foot in it._

"Lee…" she sounded a little anguished, almost begging, as she whispered his name. "I don't want you to…to make an offer you might regret later. I realize…they must be expecting something serious to be coming your way soon, to let you make this call. Once you kick ass—and I'm confident you will—it might not seem so important to—"

"Kara, for frak's sake…stop. Stop! This has nothing to do with a mission. I…I meant what I said that night on Caprica, when we were making love. I'm…I want…please, Kara. Please keep some room in your heart for me. I know it's crazy, but I just…I don't want to imagine my future without you in it." He was holding back tears; he hadn't meant to reveal quite so much, but…but the truth was, he already loved her. She did already own the most important part of him.

"Damn you, Lee Adama—I don't talk to you for four months, and in a space of five minutes, you have me welling up. It…it scares me, the effect you have on me."

"Believe me, Kara, I'm experiencing the same thing."

"I…" her voice muted. "I know that too. Look, I'm not really sure what to say." There were tears in her breath. "I've graduated from the Academy; I'm in the middle of basic flight; they're talking about an assignment for me aboard the Chiron. No matter how much I want to be with you, see where this goes—our timing's all wrong. I hate it; I've tried so many different scenarios out in my mind, but they all end badly."

Lee felt the droplets trace his cheeks, as soft as her caress. He wasn't sure what he should feel—overjoyed she was just as emotionally involved, or anguished at the pragmatic realities she laid out before him.

"Lee—Lee, are you still there?"

"Yeah, Kara. Sorry—I was trying to process things."

"I don't know why it's so important to tell you this, and I can't figure out how it could happen in the few times we've been together—no matter how intense it's all been up to now—but…"

He waited for her next words as he realized he didn't hear her breathing any longer.

"I'm already half-way there, you know, to...to that point of no return. And I sometimes think that's the worst thing that could have happened to me, because it's so frakked up, for so many reasons—" her voice broke. "But then I…I sense—_understand_—we're connected, bound together. The gods keep whispering it in my ear…"

"So where does that leave us?" _ Love and pain; was it always going to be the combination of both with this woman?_

"I guess—I guess in the hands of the gods. Send me the letters, Lee—I would like to read them. I'll write you—they probably won't get there until you're about ready to return home, but at least you'll know I kept my promise, that I was thinking about you too. We can't—we shouldn't make any other promises. When I get my assignment and my military carrier info—is there a way to let you know, a permanent address or something where I could send communication that you'd receive, no matter what?"

"Uh-huh—my mother's home. Carolanne Adama—she's listed. I can't think straight right now to rattle it off, otherwise I'd…"

"No problem, Lee—I've got it. Hey, I know you probably don't have much time left for this call…"

He let out a little sound, trying to control the sob that suddenly sprang from his chest. "No, probably not. I'm glad I was able to talk to you, Kara, hear your voice. And I do want one promise."

"Yeah?" He could hear the worry in her voice.

"Friends, Kara—no matter what. I need to know I have the permission to reach out to you, whatever happens in the interim. I want us to remain in each other's lives."

"Oh. Apollo, I thought you already understood that part. We're always going to be friends; I'm certain of it. Nothing—or no one—will ever get in the way of that. I can promise it with a free conscience."

He laughed; it was endearing and the perfect thing to say, in a space where nothing fit exactly right.

"Well, at least that's settled. I should go—but no goodbyes, okay? I'm going to see you again. I'll have to see you again, or my soul might not withstand the pain."

"No goodbyes. And I will be longing to see you again too, Lee Adama. Now, get the hell off the com—I'm never maudlin, so you've extracted the last sentimental statement from me you're going to get!"

"Right. See you around, Starbuck."

"Strut your stuff, Apollo."

The line went dead. Lee wiped his face quickly, and wondered if the officer was still outside the door—he'd remained on the channel with Kara longer than expected. To his relief, the man was there.

"I've been ordered to give you extra time, Sir, but make the best of it. We're never supposed to tie up the security channel for this long."

Lee nodded. "This one will be shorter."

The gods were smiling on Lee Adama; Zak was home and answered his call too.

"Lee? Is it really you? Are you—is everything okay? They never let—"

"…someone use the security channel. I know. But I'm fine—honestly! The Commander gave this to me as a perk for a job well done."

"Gods, I've missed you, bro. The Academy is tough—sometimes I'm not sure I'm in the right place."

A lump of anger formed in the back of Apollo's throat. He had vehemently argued with his father about Zak a year earlier—and on each occasion since—that the military wasn't the right place for someone with such a warm heart and gifts in science and music. His brother deserved to attend the renowned Ithaca University on Picon, pursuing his amazing research ideas in cell regeneration while cultivating his prowess with the piano. But William Adama wouldn't hear of it. All the Adama men entered the military—it was "imperative" Zak stay the course.

Still impressionable, Zak wanted to meet his father's expectations—despite Lee's encouragement, his younger brother wasn't strong enough to resist the pull of tradition, nor was he willing to risk losing Commander Adama's approval. It was the curse of boys with absent fathers; they never felt they could completely trust the father to be there, the love to be unconditional and constant. Lee was no exception; he couldn't blame Zak for being the same.

"You'll continue to do well, Zak—you're brilliant in science and mathematics."

"That's just it, Lee—you'd think the engineering stuff would come naturally, given my strengths in other areas, but it doesn't at all. I can't get a feel for the physics, not to mention astronomy, engine motion dynamics, or FTL theory."

"Gods, I wish I was there—you know I'd tutor you, if it were possible, when you needed a little extra assistance." Suddenly Lee had an idea to help out Zak.

"Listen, I know a cadet—well, she's in flight school now—she could probably fill in the details, make the problems seem more straight-forward. And she's a kick-ass pilot."

"Are you talking about Starbuck—the one you named the maneuver after?"

"Damn, Zak, you have a good memory. Yeah, that's the one."

"You really believe she'd be willing to take the time to coach me through a few things? I mean, she's got to be busy…"

"Yeah, but I don't think she'll be too busy for you. She'd want to help out her ol' friend Apollo. Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. Kara's…we're good friends, and I would appreciate knowing someone's there to get her back, if she ever needed it."

"I…Lee, she seems to mean a lot to you. Maybe it isn't a good idea…"

"Why? I didn't suggest you hit on her, Zak—I suggested you ask for her help with classes. And we're not…it isn't like that. I do care for her, deeply, but we're officers. We're bonded friends—nothing more or less." His stomach dropped as he said the last; his heart was screaming to him what a liar he was. _You're in love with her; why wouldn't your brother pick up on that?_

"Okay, okay, big brother—I'll follow your lead, like always."

"I don't think I told you how much I've missed you, Zak. Especially our late-night catch-up sessions. It's…it's damn isolated out here."

"I can only imagine, Lee. But you know I love you, bro, right? Whenever you're feeling out of sorts, just know I'm there, next to you, supporting you. "

"As I am for you, Zak. I love you too." He wanted to cry again, but he couldn't—Zak would be very worried then, and that would lead to calls to Mom, which would get to Dad—no, definitely not good to go there. "Hey, they're giving me the cut-off sign—time to go. Kara's on the military electronic mail system— . You'll be great, Zak—don't let them see you sweat."

"Same back at ya, bro. Stay safe—we want Apollo to come home."

"I will. See you later."

The line was dead a second time. Commander Thornton had been right; he was feeling more centered now. The conversations did seem to settle his mind down.

As Lee was gathering up his jacket and papers to leave, Thornton re-entered his quarters. "So, everything go well?" He smiled.

"Yes, Sir. Very well, all things considered. I don't know how to properly thank you."

"Keep those terrorists from succeeding, Captain—that will be thanks enough."

"Sir, yes Sir. Permission to exit?"

"Dismissed. Now get some rack time—you've got less than four days to get those blueprints on my war table."

Lee turned on his heel and went through the hatch, feeling lighter than when he walked in. That famous Apollo focus was back. _ It was the last time he remembered feeling whole—_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus (present), Seven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

A loud banging on the hatch stirred Lee from his musings. He quickly took in the time—another hour had already passed—he needed to get to Life Station. Tossing on a sweatshirt, Lee moved to the door. Kat was standing there.

"Glad to see you dressed up for me, Sir. Time to get your butt to Life Station—your XO seems to think you might not make it there without some encouragement." She grinned widely, swiveling her arms at the elbows and gesturing to the sides, one leg briefly sliding behind the other in a goofy move. Lee couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, he's probably right. Good to see you, Kat. Come in, and give me a minute to change into uniform—I'll need to head straight to the CIC afterward."

Stepping into the room, Kat started examining the articles in the outer area while Lee moved back into the private quarters to change. She could tell Apollo was coming back into himself—the room had more character, more personal objects appearing on the shelves—and there was no trace of his former life with Dee. Photos had shown up, ones Kat hadn't seen before—several of a man she guessed to be Zak, a couple of Lee with the Admiral, and one of Apollo and Starbuck on the flight deck of Galactica. There were even Academy pictures, and several shots of Lee as CAG of another ship—Kat could make out "Eos" on the flight suit insignia of the pilots. Sitting on different shelf, another image from the same time period—she could tell by his face—and he was standing next to an older man in Commander regalia. _Of the Eos, I'll bet_…

Finally, Kat's eyes fell upon a photograph of Lee with a woman who appeared to be his mother. His eyes were so sad in this image…it was clearly taken after the ones from the Eos, but before the snapshot with Starbuck. She found herself wondering why he seemed so unhappy. Something struck her; it was similar to a look he'd carried when he returned from New Caprica after the Groundbreaking Ceremony so many months ago. Lee had come aboard Galactica to share the news of his engagement, but the eyes were anguished—just as in this photo. _Kara_, Kat thought. _Something happened back then too_…

"Um, planning on writing a research paper about me?" Kat jumped as she turned around, blushing slightly.

"No. Just waiting for you to get your ass in gear—ten minutes passed already!"

"Okay, okay, drill sergeant—let's head out."

As they walked briskly towards medical, Kat decided she should give Lee a little pep talk. "I think, Commander, you're almost viper-ready again. Maybe we should take a ride tomorrow, get your space legs back under you? Now that you can see your feet, I mean." She smirked.

Lee tapped her lightly across the temple. "You enjoy saying that, don't you…maybe you're forgetting I can outrun you now?"

"Right, Apollo. I didn't say you were that far, yet—you may have lost all the excess weight, but your stamina…"

"Try me." He took off in a sprint, wondering, as he found his stride, what he was going to the doctor for, exactly?

Kat sped up quickly to catch him, finally overtaking his position a few steps out from the Life Station entrance. More winded than she wanted to let on, Kat leaned back against the metal, closing her eyes for a second. When she opened them, Lee's face was an inch from her own. He was panting too, arms up around her ears as he leaned into the bulkhead for support. His eyes were a bright hue, much happier than in most of his photos, sparking with renewed engagement in life. She thought she should look away, but couldn't turn her head…damn, what was wrong with her?

Apollo smiled, the kind of look that pulled women into his thrall. _Yeah,_ Kat thought,_ the sun god's made a return_.

Sliding under his arm to get away from the wall, Kat grabbed his hand and yanked him towards the hatch to Life Station. "Geez, now you're all sweaty, Lee—how is Cottle supposed to take your temperature or anything?"

"I was wondering that very thing, Lieutenant Catraine." Dr. Cottle walked up to the Commander. "XO tells me you're coming here, that you've been tired, groggy—you're not exactly matching his description."

"I…I'm thinking I just hadn't gotten enough sleep, doc. I'm feeling normal now."

"Well, great, in the now, but not so good in the past—I still want to do a full check-up. After you take a shower. And keep the water tepid; I don't need you throwing off my readings!"

Lee turned to Kat. "See you later." He knew he was letting his eyes linger a little too long on the way her body moved on the way out.

As he stood in the shower moments afterward, thinking about the run with Kat, the way her skin glistened with sweat, the way her eyes dilated when he was staring at her, the color of her lips, he realized he was getting hard. Painfully hard. _This isn't happening, Lee—you cannot allow yourself to go there_. It was too late. The water, while lukewarm, wasn't cool enough to deter him; he was sexually excited, in a way he hadn't remembered for a long time, and it felt…it was going to feel so good to have that release. He started stroking himself, enjoying the sensation of the touch, imagining the way Kat's mouth would feel around his shaft. _Unnhh_…he moaned softly. He increased the pace, knowing Cottle was waiting, knowing he shouldn't give into this urge, right now, but…_Unnnh, unnnh_…his hand moved fervently, his whole body starting to ram into his fist. _Uuunh, uuunh, uuunh…he was going to come in her mouth…he was…_"Gods!" he gasped as he felt the hot seed spill onto his hand. _Yeah_…that felt as intense and exquisite as he thought it would; his whole body tingled in relief. _Maybe I don't need a doctor; maybe I just need to get laid_…

"Commander? The doctor wanted to make sure you didn't fall or something…everything okay in there?"

_Had he been that loud_? "I'm…I'm fine, PA Kelly. Just trying to cool down here…I was more overheated from that run than I thought."

"I'll tell him you'll be out in another two minutes?"

"Yeah. Two minutes."

He stepped out as soon as he heard the door shut again, toweling off quickly before grabbing the medical garb she'd given him to wear for the examination. In another thirty seconds, he made his way to the exam room, a foolish grin planted on his face, despite his best efforts to control it. The day had been strange, and he knew the urges he felt for Kat were substitutions, desires he wanted to fulfill with Kara Thrace and couldn't. Still. As always. It's how it started, each time he drifted down a path with another woman; he'd been apart from Starbuck for so long he couldn't take the physical and emotional tensions any more, and he tried to do something, find someone who could sooth the aching for a while. It never lasted longer than that, though, "a while"; sooner or later, each person figured out his heart belonged to someone else. Yeah, he was bound to Starbuck, all right. Why was it, he remembered with a pang, she never seemed to realize the same? The smile slid away from his face. Cottle entered the room.

"Okay. You've got 15 minutes left before your CIC shift starts, so we'll make this quick. Assuming you know how to do that—be quick?" The doctor was clearly aggravated by the shower delay.

"Yes, Sir. Quick."

"Alright. What symptoms have you been having?"

Oversleeping, occasional spells of dizziness…hal…odd dreams."

Cottle cocked an eyebrow. "Well, odd dreams mean interrupted sleep—that could explain the rest of your problems. How many hours are you getting, on average?"

"Umm, four, maybe five."

Well, that's not enough. Look, I know there's a lot to do, a lot of pressure. And I know you're an Adama, so pushing yourself beyond limits is in your DNA. But Lee, this is a long haul, and you've got to pace yourself. I've seen your files, remember? I know what happened on the Eos…you made it, and so did the crew, but at too great cost to yourself. We can't afford…son, you worked so hard to make it back here. Again. I can help you stay centered, on your feet, your wits fully about you, but you need to follow what I prescribe—all of it. Can you agree to that?"

Lee peered into the man's eyes, weighing how much trust he truly held for Dr. Cottle. To Lee, the doctor had always been Dad's man, Dad's surrogate. But here, in the present? Here, Cottle was the Commander's physician. And he was trying to share something important with Lee Adama—no one else—trying to convey that he understood Lee's commitment, Lee's limits, and Lee's potential to succeed as a leader.

Without comment, Lee stuck out his arm for the doctor to take blood samples. Cottle nodded as he began the process. "Good. Here's the orders—treat them as orders. Sleep—never less than six hours at a stretch, unless it's just impossible in the middle of battle. If you don't, your memory will falter, your decisions will suck, and your emotions will get the better of you.

"Food—all three meals, heavy on the protein and carbohydrates. Exercise—but you need to cut back on the length of the workouts. The physique's there; focus more on building stamina now, less on high-impact, calorie-burning activities. Box only twice a week—it's great for exercise and coordination, but you could also get a concussion, dizzy spells—it isn't worth the risks. Remember to delegate—there are a lot of fine people still working on this ship, despite what you may have thought, and they are willing to step up to the plate. You've regained their respect.

"For 45 minutes each day, read a book and work mathematics problems, to keep your mind sharp but away from the pressing issues. And last but not least—Lee, for gods sakes, get laid. It does wonders for tension. Just save the mushy crap for a different time—you've got enough drama already in that department, no reason to add more."

"Wow. Is that it?" Apollo appreciated straightforwardness, but he was still a little taken aback at Cottle's bracing candor.

"Yep. Now get the hell out of here; I've got acutely ill patients to see."

"Am I cleared, then?"

"Yes—as far as I can tell, you're basically healthy. I'll call you once the tests all come back. But if you fail to follow—"

"I get it, doc, really. I will." Cottle cocked an eyebrow up, still skeptical. "I will!"

Apollo jumped off the table, reaching for his uniform. Two minutes left to reach the CIC; he would have to run again to make there in time for Helo's departure.

"Thanks, doc."

The man waved his hand behind his back as he shuffled off to another exam room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Seven Weeks After Cylon Occupation**

Laura woke up alone, just as she knew she would. A part of her felt like lying there for as long as she could stand it, but there was no point. She'd have to face them all, live with the weight of consequences. She sat up, every joint aching; it felt cold in the room, despite the space heater running in the corner.

Stepping into the larger space, Roslin saw Sharon sitting with Hera; Maya was in the corner, face red from crying. Bill, at the table, seemed to be fiddling with the communications panel, trying to put it back together after the events from the night before. _Sam…gods, how was Sam?_

"Good morning. Have we heard anything about Anders?"

Bill refused to look up, as did Sharon; Maya looked at Laura, trembling, her voice faint. "Th-they said—Galen and the Admiral—he was breathing and 'pinking up' by the time they reached Sam's tent. We won't know more until…" she stopped, unsure what would come next.

"Thank you, Maya."

Laura moved towards the main food crates, grabbing a few things and sitting at the table. She looked directly at Bill as she sat down. "Any luck with the wiring?"

"Not yet."

_Okay, not going to get anywhere there_, she thought, resigned.

Sharon stood up and walked over to Roslin, sitting beside her. She began talking quietly in Laura's ear.

"I spoke with the Admiral. We talked with Maya, explaining the situation to her, and then Maya and I had a conversation with Hera. You'll need to make your apologies, and then give everyone a wide berth. I can't speak for the Admiral or Maya, but as far as you and I are concerned—don't even attempt the overtures. They won't be accepted." Her voice was even, but hard; Laura was certain Sharon had no intentions of accommodating her in any way going forward.

Sharon moved over by the Admiral. "Sir, let me take a look at the equipment. You need to tell her…" she tilted her head in Laura's direction. Roslin braced herself—it was hard to tell whether she'd have the stamina for all that was to come.

Bill glanced at Roslin, then shifted somewhat closer, though his body language remained stiff and ominous. She decided it was best to say nothing, let him extend only as much as he wanted in the moment.

"You were still sound asleep when I got up; I didn't want to disturb you."

"I appreciate that, Bill." She did; the enormity of the previous evening had wrung her dry, in terms of energy.

"I…I apologize for last night. I was…I forgot myself and acted roughly."

"No apologies needed. Truly."

"I…I meant what I said. I can forgive you. It's going to take some time, though, to…make it back from this. The trust—"

Laura squeezed his arm, briefly, signaling she understood.

"I rely on your counsel; that doesn't change. The other, though, the…personal relationship…I'm not going to be able to—" he choked, coughing for a moment. Laura waited—waited for the words to fall, the ones that would finish smashing her heart into a pulpy mess.

"I can't be intimate with you again, Laura, until I know it's coming from the right place…in love, not in anger. If I don't stick to that, we'll come to despise each other; all the warmth will fade from our interactions. I know you don't want that—"

Laura shook her head, so he would be sure she grasped the nuances in his statements.

"…I couldn't bear it. Every other tragic thing life's handed me—somehow I've withstood it, survived it. Losing our path to even remain friends—that would just seem like the end, that the Cylons won. Because they would have—" he looked directly into her eyes—"I would be as cold inside as they are."

Roslin felt the tears fill her eyes. She held his gaze. "I understand, Bill. And I thank you, for honoring your promise. I know I…there's no way to bring all of this to a better place, absolve me of my sins. But I hope…"

Bill took her hand. "Maybe. Someday. I do love you, Laura Roslin." He kissed her cheek, then stood up.

_I love you too_, she whispered under her breath.

Louder, to the group, Bill spoke again as he grabbed a coat. "Sharon and I have decided it's time to be more aggressive in our efforts. We need intel to get Kara out, bring our girl home. With luck, Sam will make it back soon to begin the rescue, help us with the widespread resistance strike. If he isn't, for some reason…I'm going to go in his place. It's time we started moving forward."

Laura kept her head still, eyes unmoving. Her gut lurched inside, knowing Bill was determined and also perceiving things would not end well, taking this path. She'd lost the right to object, though, ceded her voice. Roslin focused on keeping her lungs moving…_air in, air out; air in, air out_…

Sharon guided Hera over to Maya. "Hera, honey—look at me, sweetheart, remember what I told you about your name—I have to go outside for a while. Maya's going to be with you, take care of you. Mommy will be back soon." She bent down, kissing the top of child's head. The little girl was evidently confused and scared; she did not understand what was happening to everyone's identity, including her own. She started to whimper. Torment and guilt swept across Sharon's features as she stood up; she turned to Laura, glaring hotly.

"How, Laura Roslin, will we ever make it right for her?" She didn't wait for an answer, knowing there was none to offer; she angrily yanked on the coat and strode purposefully towards the stairs. Bill followed, saying, "We'll try to find out what happened to Sam."

Fifteen minutes later, exhausted and knowing sleep would not be the answer, Laura decided it was time to return to her tent to get ready for the day ahead. She stepped over to Maya and Hera, then sat on her haunches. "Maya, I am truly sorry…for everything. I…there are no words."

"Sharon…she said—she said I could still have a place in Isis—Hera's life. Given everything, I thought that was very generous."

"You've been a great mother, Maya. And I still believe, in my heart of hearts, we've kept her safe, you and me."

The woman looked up into Laura's eyes. Roslin could now plainly see the blankness there; the woman was in shock.

"Let me get you a blanket, Maya, and I'll make you some tea. I'm pretty sure we saved some of that root you and I found in early fall, on the western side of the New Libran rock formation here. I think Hera would appreciate a little snuggle time; why don't the two of you go into the other room, and lie down on the pallets? It isn't like you slept much last night."

Maya agreed, soundlessly. Laura guided her and the child towards the bed, laying several blankets over both. She was going to make the tea, but noticed the two fell asleep before she even left the room.

Recognizing the lateness of the hour, relative to her work shift, Roslin shut the door quietly and gathered her things, moving swiftly through the trap door into the spectacular cold. It felt good to breath the air, feel the pain sting her lungs, if only to remind her she was still physically alive. Her spirit felt leaden, petrified. She was going to have to put one foot in front of the other, and pray to the gods for mercy. She had a terrible premonition, based on Hera's dream, no clemency would be forthcoming.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Nine Weeks After Cylon Occupation**

"Ahieeeeeeh! Ahieeeeeeh! Ahieeeeeeh!"

Baltar shot upright the bed, screaming in fear, then stiffened and fell back, his eyes rolling into his head. A Cylon rushed into the medical room.

"Seizure! Seizure! Room 108!" She yelled into the speaker, the alert booming through the hallway. Three other Cylons appeared. Flurrying around the convulsing man, they worked to stabilize him. At last, the monitor sounds fell into normal rhythms.

D'Anna stood outside the door, grabbing the arm of the doctor, a Doral model. "What's the status?"

"He's stable. He passed out again, but he's not in a coma; he can be roused, if needed."

"What's causing the seizures? The drug must be out of his system by now…"

"Yes, but the residual effects are considerable. Especially at the dosage levels he ingested. What would possess a human of actual intellect to—"

"No reason to speculate on that now, is there? 'What's done is done,' as the humans say. I still don't understand why we've spent so much time and effort building this human zoo, but the Sixes and Eights refuse to tire of their pets yet."

"Then why the interest in this one, Three—he's 'Caprica's' pet, after all."

"Not any more. Seems she's moved onto a new breed. Apparently only current Colonial Presidents will do."

"That still doesn't explain your questions. He's annoying, on a good day, Baltar—even the other humans don't tolerate him very well."

"Of course not. He's brilliant—his mind works more efficiently. Humans always despise what they can't understand or emulate."

"And how, then, do you account for the drug addiction? He's nearly killed himself—twice. You said yourself, we shouldn't waste time speculating on his motives, but I hardly think it demonstrates his native intelligence."

"Agreed. That's why I want to study him. If I'm stuck on this dismal piece of rock with nothing to do, I might as well take on my own pet…project. When he's ready for discharge, bring him to me."

"Three, you don't want this one. Addictions are nasty when it comes to humans—they have no discipline and their minds are weak, not to mention their physical forms. And Baltar, well…he is worse."

"That's exactly why I do want him. I could use a challenge, a diversion. I think I'll see what I can make of our Dr. Gaius Baltar, when he and his love Lethe are separated."

"As you wish. It will be another two days. I'll have him brought to your residence."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The milky white skin of her calf extended from the sheet, shapely and enticing. An arm draped gracefully along the curve of her hips, and the sheet had fallen to cover only her nipples. Asleep, face relaxed, hair strewn softly across his arm, Tom thought she looked beautiful. It had been difficult, as he'd felt the smooth touch of her lips, smelled her perfumed skin, caressed her supple thighs in his hands…difficult to remember she wasn't human, didn't possess a soul, couldn't care less if he lived or died once she'd had her curiosities satisfied. He understood Baltar a little better now…and what an uncomfortable sensation it was. Tom had no desire to comprehend the scientist's motives, no interest in empathy, but he couldn't deny the fact this Cylon had a way about her. If Zarek hadn't known she was Cylon…if he'd been drawn to her charms without awareness…it would have been easy to fall for Caprica, the way men fall hard for mysterious and alluring creatures.

Tom knew her true nature, though, through the stories of those who had been back on the planet Caprica after the attacks—Thrace, Anders, Agathon. He knew this woman was capable of snapping someone's neck without thought or emotion, not even malice. She was a machine, and her eyes—engaging, even emotionally expressive at times—still revealed the truth. When he looked in them, while having sex with her or holding her afterward, he could find no soulfulness there. That was the difference, he realized, why Gaius never grasped the depths of Caprica's deception—Baltar had no interest in peering into someone's soul, so he wouldn't be alarmed, wouldn't feel the apprehension ripple down his spine.

In the past week, Zarek had learned more about Caprica's deep-rooted interest in Baltar, how she knew him before…well, before. The woman didn't give away any details of significance, of course—she was too clever for that—but revealed they had been lovers during her initial infiltration of the Colonial planet, the one she later chose to name herself after. Gaius had not known the Cylon's true identity; for some reason, Zarek believed her story on that count. What didn't fit together was how she ended up with Baltar in the first place. Of all the prominent, well-heeled, up-and-coming elites in Caprica City, there must have been a specific reason she seduced Gaius Baltar. And Tom was sure she had seduced him; he didn't think the woman was capable of falling into someone else's thrall.

What mattered more, in the present, was to gain Caprica's trust, elicit specifics that might help the settlement leadership group plan for resistance efforts, extraction efforts, and a hoped-for rescue. The first steps had been facile—her previous interest in Tom was simple to exploit, and she had none of the reservations a typical human might carry, for she had little fear of rejection or deception. Interestingly, though, Tom would not have said she had no trepidation; clearly, Baltar's changed nature and loss of interest in Caprica had hurt her feelings. She experienced emotions—but she hadn't generalized the cause-and-effect. To the Cylon, the fact one human jilted her in a romantic relationship did not translate into a sense another human man might do the same. She hadn't seen patterns in the lives of others, hadn't read many books or seen films depicting the fickle nature of human loves, so she made no assumptions about her next experience based on her previous one.

Still, Tom recognized Caprica was capable of intense anger when jealous. He had watched her on the day Baltar said the name "Vivian" in his medical bed, asleep, after his first overdose; she screamed and slammed doors, then began pacing and wondering aloud who this other woman was. He would need to be careful. Only a few days into their—what would he call it—pairing?—Tory had arrived at the hatch of the Phygera, to talk with Tom about arrangements for Sam. Caprica had been in the office area, sitting at the table, and she watched Tory the way a cat sizes up another animal—eyes following every movement, body twitching in alertness. Recognizing the potential danger, Tom had rushed the conversation, encouraged Tory to be about her business and go.

The hurt in Tory's eyes during the exchange caused part of his chest to crumble internally, and he wasn't going to be able to explain the situation to her for some time. Then…on the way out, Tory caught sight of the bedroom, saw the female shoe on the floor…the signs of tightness in her cheeks told Tom she understood quite well what had happened. Tory's demeanor shifted—nuanced, but Tom recognized it—and the energy appeared to drain out of her body.

Problematically, Zarek had been unable to speak with any of his human friends since he put his "intelligence gathering" plan in motion. Caprica had significant appetites. When she learned Sam was planning to stay in Tom's residence, she dragged the President to her own quarters. The Cylon apartments were akin to living in stainless steel boxes—attractive, in an aloof way, but too stark and too mentally wearing. Caprica had chosen fabrics and materials all in white, with steel accents and white ceramics, even a white-tiled floor—Zarek sometimes couldn't escape the impression he was sleeping in a hotel carved of ice. A prison of ice…she had dismissed his Presidential duties for the past week, insisting he remain with her at all times; there had been no way to share anything with the outside world. Tom wasn't even sure how Sam was doing; he had to trust Tory checked in on Anders after Zarek disappeared.

It would appear to the other settlement leaders Tom had vanished, and it pained him to know they would worry, trying to interpret the meaning in his absence, fearing the worst. If he'd understood Caprica wasn't going to let him return to the Phygera any time soon, he would have attempted to leave a signal, something to let his colleagues know he was alright. As it was, Zarek couldn't be certain when he'd have a clear opportunity. With some bitterness, Tom wondered how effective his intelligence gathering scheme must be, if he couldn't share his knowledge with anyone else.

Caprica stirred; Tom shifted his attentions to the tasks at hand.

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Ummm-hummm. You know how to completely relax a woman." She smiled.

"Plans for today?"

Caprica sat up, her breasts swinging in a sensual motion. "I was thinking I should let you return to your ship, resume your Presidential duties. The Cylon cabinet is displeased I absconded with you for so long…"

"I'm not." He grinned in return.

"I'm afraid our period of cocooned exclusivity has come to an end, lover. You're to resume overseeing the pharmaceutical productions and inspect the construction sites across the city. As for me…" she paused, stretching upward, a languorous sigh whistling softly through her lips. "I'm needed on the basestar for a few days. Something about reconstruction on the old worlds."

The Cylons referred to the Colonial planets as "the old worlds;" Tom gathered they continued to rebuild certain areas, although he was puzzled as to the reasons.

"Still re-building? I'd have thought the Cylons tired of those worlds by now."

Caprica looked up at him sharply. "We see potential for Cylon expansion there, with more variety and stimulation for our people. The radiation levels, while harmless to us, have still limited plant and animal growth; we are searching for ways to restore habitats, make life on the old worlds more pleasurable."

Tom stifled the facial expressions fighting to break free on his face; it was arduous, pretending he didn't care the Cylons had claimed all of the Colonials' lands, treasures, and history.

"Yes, I can see how the stimulation would be important…for you…" he bent close and licked her left ear, watching her head tilt back involuntarily. She began kissing him, and the plans for the day faded into the background for a few more hours.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom purposely sauntered back to the Phygera, maintaining his composure until he was sure he had some privacy. Once in the space, Zarek scanned for sound or camera devices, knowing he had to be able to protect himself and any settler who came back looking for him. Satisfied at last he was actually in his sanctum, Tom grabbed some ambrosia and a shot glass, flopping deep into the couch. Pouring a drink on his stomach, he propped the pillows up just enough to down the first one in a single wrist movement, and proceeded to swallow the second as quickly; he set the glass and liquor on the nearby table, closing his eyes to focus on the sensation of the alcohol sedating him.

It dawned on Tom that Sam should probably still be aboard, but as he looked around, nothing indicated another human's presence; in fact, he sensed no one had been there in several days. Deciding that should be a good sign, Tom closed his eyes. Grabbing the warm blanket from the back of the couch, Zarek buried his nose into the cushion, eager to smell "humanness" and breath in the scents of the familiar. Satisfied, Tom let his head roll back slightly as he let sleep overcome him; five days of acting, five days of energy trickling out breath by breath—they had taken their toll.

Three hours later, disoriented and frightened, Tom awoke, relieved to see his belongings around him as he remembered he was back on the Phygera. Knowing there were only a few hours of daylight left, given the winter cycle, he eagerly moved off the couch to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, after a few bites of food, he swiftly departed the ship and made his way towards the tent city.

It was best to meet his obligations first, in case the Cylon cabinet called an impromptu meeting. He entered the main warehouse, where the makeshift lab was in motion. Cylons and humans were manipulating equipment to maintain a steady stream of antibiotic pill production. Pleased that process was running well, Tom made quick rounds before heading out to the three primary construction sites. Each was in various states of disarray; the ice and snow had prevented most work from continuing. After consulting with the team heads, Tom instructed them to dig the important equipment out, ensure all were in good working order, and develop alternative plans for making headway through the rest of the winter months. Unfortunately, they were all learning the weather on this planet cycled slowly; clammy, rainy fall weather presided for four months, and then winter had set in for the past two.

Tom wasn't sure the settlers could absorb two more months of the bitter sleet and blizzards; while the Cylons would ostensibly provide food, if needed, he believed they would also exact a price, and the human meal rations were dangerously low. Tom was in a better position to negotiate for vital supplies if the core projects were maintained on schedule, and he had learned early on the Cylons accepted no excuses. Each missed milestone was considered another evidence of human weakness and ineptness; he was failing his people if he didn't keep them on task now, no matter how hard he had to be on the settlers to get there.

As Tom worked his way back through the housing tents, he was elated to see people he knew, find out the latest news, regain a sense of normalcy. He understood it was a fleeting illusion, but one to cherish all the same. Zarek absorbed the reality that his days with Caprica had unsettled him significantly, precariously. He might have committed an error in judgment, becoming involved with her, though it was too late to abandon course now. Somehow, Tom would need to figure out a way to remain grounded; he would also need to look for every opportunity to collect meaningful information from her, or his emotional turmoil would be for naught.

A comforting sound filled his heart with warmth as he stepped out of one of the tents; it was Tory, calling out to him.

"Tom! Tom! Thank the gods you're here—we've been so—" she caught herself, recognizing her words might alarm the colonists nearby.

Zarek made it to her in three strides and scooped her up in his arms, swinging her around in a circle. It was too forward a gesture, by far, but he didn't care—it was such a genuine pleasure to lay eyes on Tory again.

"I've missed you…missed everyone." He pulled away, not letting go of her waist as he took in her smile.

"Oh, Tom—we've been worried. Especially after we learned Sam never saw you during his stay on the Phygera. What the frak happened?"

Zarek laughed; somehow, the cursing felt incongruous with the personality of the woman uttering it. "What _frakkin'_ happened? Such a tongue you developed in the past two weeks…too much time with Sam, I'll bet." He smirked, and she giggled in response.

"Uhh, yeah, okay. Guilty as charged. Still—are you alright? Did they do anything…"

"No, no, nothing untoward." Tom dropped his arms from her, stepping back an appropriate distance, knowing he ought to explain things, yet wishing he didn't have to tell her.

"Look, I'm going to be on the ship tonight. I don't dare come to The Cellar; I know the Cylons have an heightened interest in me, for a number of reasons, and I can't risk exposing the others. Can you make it?"

"What should I say I'm coming to talk to you about, at night, if I'm stopped? They're interrogating people more often, Tom—random security checks."

"Oh. I didn't know that…" Damn the Cylons; they didn't understand a thing about freedoms or rights. It required an understanding of boundaries, and they certainly didn't fathom how boundaries functioned either.

"Tell them…tell them you are now the medical liaison between the settlers and the Cylons, and you need to speak with me to address problems with primary medical care—stitches, casts, cleaning wounds, etc."

Tory looked at him, an intense focus in her eyes. "I…we do need a liaison, Tom—are you serious in suggesting—"

"Yes. Yes, I'm serious. The incident with Sam really jolted my thinking, and watching you, working with you in the situation…I think you'd be the best person to make this into something, Tory."

"I would like to start with—"

"Hey, hey…not yet. Tonight. Promise you'll come?"

"I'll be there. I need to tell you about what happened with…" Again, realizing she was in public, she stopped herself. "Never mind; let's just say you need to be brought up to speed on quite a few things."

"I'll look forward to seeing you. Eighteen-hundred hours?"

Tory nodded. Zarek picked up her gloved hand, squeezing it in both of his own. "Be safe."

"You too."

Tom walked away, taking a circuitous path back to the Phygera, knowing his emotions were about to get him into a great deal of trouble.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leoben was clearly growing frustrated with the lack of progress in his "project." Kara seemed to be able to hold on to herself, tethered by something he couldn't see or guess at. He'd used physical persuasion, drugs, psychological tactics, all trying to break her down. Leoben thought he had to break her first, so that she'd imprint on him—see him as the one to trust, rely on, love.

Leoben pushed her emotionally, about her mother, about Sam, about William Adama. He could see he was wearing down her defenses, but something was still propping her up psychically. Maybe he was going to have to try a different path. He hadn't wanted to force himself sexually on her; he wanted her to come to him, to want him. He was feeling impatient, though, finding his own need—desire—growing by the day. Maybe if he started having sex with her, that would break her down and provide the opening for a bond later—humans seemed to connect through sex. She wouldn't want it, at first, but he could persuade her—if she didn't find a new method for killing him before he had the chance to do more.

That same day, at dusk, he came into the "apartment". Kara was sleeping in her robe—or appearing to sleep, he reminded himself—on the couch. He kept his eyes on her body—that body he wanted to soon possess—watching to see any movements that could give away the intent of attack. He kissed her forehead lightly—she didn't move. He stared at her lips—he really wanted to taste them and feel them against his own. He moved his mouth over hers, and kissed her. She stirred, but she seemed to be dreaming—and then he heard a name, or part of a name—"Lee". Was she dreaming of him, Leoben? He kissed her again, this time pushing her lips apart with his tongue. She started kissing him back, opening her mouth and letting his tongue explore within. She whimpered, light and high-pitched, her body moving in a languid way. She said his name again—"Lee." This time, Leoben was sure he was reaching her—she was calling his name—and he was suddenly overcome with need, the drive to feel her body beneath his and be inside of her. He started pulling her robe away, roughly feeling her breasts, sliding his hand down between her thighs. In a haze of desperation, he stripped his clothes, and entered her, groaning loudly as he felt the tightness and heat around his shaft. New to the sex act, it took only a few thrusts before he felt this release—he cried out at the pleasure of it, feeling his body shudder, his breath become ragged. Suddenly exhausted, he rolled over her. His back was against the couch; Kara's shoulder blades touched his chest. His eyes closed almost against his will. He thought, momentarily, he shouldn't sleep next to her—for sport, she had rammed a mirror fragment into his heart only the evening before—but he couldn't get his body to respond, simply passing out.

Kara was lying next to him, now fully awake and overcome with shame. How did that thing get on top of her, inside her, before she was fully awake and understood what was happening? She had been dreaming of Lee, on New Caprica, and it seemed so real—the longing was intense, to the point of pain beyond expression, and then Lee was kissing her, and the pain began to ebb. She'd just wanted to stay there, following that warmth…but suddenly it was all wrong. The kiss, the hands, the feeling—cold and clumsy. She'd awakened with a start to feel his penetration, recognizing Leoben was above her. Kara wanted to fight and push him off, start screaming at the cruel trick of her mind that led her to betray her body, but she quickly realized it was a moment of certain peril. Leoben was getting something he intended to take, one way or another; if she broke the spell then, when he was at his goal, it was possible he would murder her in his rage.

Mercifully, the act was over in five minutes, though it felt like fifty. When Kara could hear his breathing slow to the sound of sleep, she slipped off the couch. She studied the Cylon's face, weighing her attack options. With a small smile, she decided on the best tactic, planting her feet wider apart for balance as she swung her hand up into his nose, crushing Leoben's face with a satisfactory set of breaking bones. She could feel the nasal bridge shove into the soft brain matter behind, wedging itself into the spongy mass. His body twitched, eyes flying open before staring permanently into the distance. The breathing stopped, and she was relieved, because the sound of it had been driving her mad.

Shoving his shoulders and his back, she managed to get the body off the couch. From the floor, she dragged the corpse over to the steps to keep it out of her line of sight. Overcome with nausea, Kara ran into the toilet and threw up violently. Willing her rubbery legs to keep moving, she turned on the shower—it was vital to get the Cylon's sexual stench out of her pores. Feeling the hot water, she couldn't will her legs to work any more. She slid to the floor and began sobbing. Guttural wails came out of her mouth as she threw her head back in abject despair. The Cylon had stumbled upon her secret, the place she could go to keep the beast at bay, keep some core of herself intact. He invaded her private sanctuary with Lee, and she didn't know if she would ever get it back.

The next day, she pulled a chair over to the window, as she frequently did anymore. The cool glass pressed against her forehead; it felt good to just lean against something, anything that gave the illusion of support. The tears fell all the time now. They seemed disconnected from her emotions, almost, since she couldn't remember anything but numbness. Her soul was getting so heavy. Shaking her head, she wondered what she was struggling to survive for. There was nothing to grab onto—rescue was not a possibility any more—was it? Trying to push away the suicidal thoughts starting to worm their way into her mind hourly, she focused on her breathing.

Images floated to the surface; she tried to keep her attention on reflections of her past. No matter how painful some of those memories might be, they were preferable to the desolation gaping before her.

Sam came into her thoughts, the way he could be silly and keep everything light. Kat had said once, after a lot of drinking, that the best relationships with men were clear and simple—no layers, no expectations. Kara saw Sam that way—he let her be herself—no judgments. Easygoing conversation, great sex, a partner for highjinks—those things described Sam. He could be courageous too, smart about how and when to fight, and he hadn't met a cause he wouldn't put his back into, if needed.

To her disgrace, Kara didn't think about Sam very often. She'd tried, at first, to focus on him. Wouldn't a wife imagine her husband coming to spring her from this hell? Shouldn't thoughts of him bring her soul comfort? Nothing stuck—the pain and Leoben's words could bore right through images of Sam.

Laughing at the twisted irony of having such realizations now, she processed the purpose Sam had served in her life. To be fair to him, she hadn't known him nearly as long as Lee. When she and Sam met, Kara had been shaken by the intense argument with Lee over Baltar, what it implied, and then disillusioned over the Old Man's deceptions regarding the path to Earth. Sam had ensured her escape from the Farm, and her vulnerability in the wake of that horror allowed her to let him in closer than most people.

On a deeper level, though, she could see Sam was still really just a way to play out her unresolved feelings for Lee. He was a "clearer and simpler" version of Apollo, and at first that seemed like the ideal solution to a deep-rooted problem. Unfortunately, as Kara could comprehend in the harsh light of these days, she really didn't want a pared-down version. Sam didn't challenge her to be more, to be better. He didn't analyze the complexities of the world around him. As frustrating as Lee's tendency to over-think things could be, it was also one of the strongest assets he possessed. It kept them alive, it kept them on their feet, it allowed for calculated risks.

Most of all, though, Sam's easy-going nature meant the depth of passion—not sexual desire, but the soul's passion--escaped him. Lee's intensity, when given healthy expression, could lead to incredible moments of warmth and understanding. Bonding with Lee was like breathing in pure oxygen—the body and the mind were energized.

That was the crux of it—and it explained why sex with Lee was so much more than a great lay. He never did anything half-way, and she'd been stupid to think he could be lured into casual frakking. Hell, she wouldn't have been able to casually sleep with Lee either—Kara didn't understand how she'd allowed that rationalization to creep into her mind at the time of the tyllium drilling mission. It had to have been all the drinking, the fear of Scar. She'd started really losing hold of herself at that point. The experience on the Farm messed with her mind, more than she'd let on to anyone. When Kat actually started taking her symbolic "place" on Galactica, "out-Starbucking" Starbuck—it was overwhelming, a systems overload.

And Lee—gods, Lee—he'd kissed her when she made it back from the Farm, then gave a speech about friendship while slipping in the words "I love you." The dreams of Lee started again that night on the Astral Queen. It had been so maddening—the ache forcefully wrenching her towards him, but the experience with Sam confusing her. It seemed she could have her cake and eat it too, with that pared-down version of Apollo, and the idea was seductive, even preferable. That's why she had to go back for Sam; he was going to be the man who finally solved the conundrum of the heart never fitting its wanting.

Of course, it didn't work out that way. And now, faced with a very bleak future, the person she desperately longed to see, the one to whom she was divinely bound—he was the man who'd left her behind, utterly alone. She remembered his plea from so long ago, mouthing silently: "P_lease, Kara. Please keep some room in your heart for me. I know it's crazy, but I just…I don't want to imagine my future without you in it._" Kara's blood ran cold at the realization she'd forcibly directed Lee to imagine a life without her beside him, sadistically using his vulnerability against him, letting him think—twice—she couldn't keep room in her heart after all. Her own words from that conversation were haunting now; _"We're always going to be friends; I'm certain of it. Nothing—or no one—will ever get in the way of that. I can promise it with a free conscience." _No one…but Kara Thrace. She sat back from the window at that moment. It might be better to take another shower—Kara could feel another wave of emotion threatening to topple her over.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**AN**: I researched the idea for the EMP weapon, and learned the current real-world design depends on superconductivity, with the "pulse wave" of microwaves. I then added elements, based on the research now being conducted in how to create more powerful superconductors (using lasers to cool atoms).

Aias is an alternative spelling for "Ajax". I wanted to originally use Ajax, but was concerned there were too many modern connotations with the word (having people think of a kitchen detergent instead of a terrorist group wouldn't exactly help my story! ).

The Eos flashbacks will weave fully into the present, including the prophecy of the Priestess.

I know there are a few readers who are a bit upset at the idea of Lee with Kat. From my perspective, Kat has always been a character foil for Starbuck, and as a mirror of Kara, she has a few important lessons to teach Lee—not about love, but about himself. He needs that self-knowledge to approach his relationship with Kara differently, when they're together again. Lee has been dead inside for a long time, at various levels, and current circumstances are drawing him out, at long last, to fully manifest his gifts. Kat is just one element in the equation, but a significant one. I also have always imagined Lee, with his intensity, would be a pretty passionate guy. He's been repressing a lot of it, in all varieties, and he's got to be able to draw on that energy now, channel it outward to build the future (instead of channeling it inward, making him depressed).

Thank you for the reviews and to those who have me on their story alert lists. I am truly honored.


	7. Ch 7: Prayers and Lamentations

Chapter 7: Prayers and Lamentations

**Chapter 7: Prayers and Lamentations**

"…_we do pray for mercy; and that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy." Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare_

"_I was numb…for you I come…night and day…and I can't stay away, no, I can't stay away." I Can't Stay Away, The Veronicas_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Seven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee was in the Commander's ready room, pouring over the ships' reports and updated tactics diagrams. He rubbed his eyes in consternation, then stretched up in he chair to put his hands behind his head and arch his chest out, willing the frustrations to ebb. As he sat upright again, he reflected on how his father's days must have been, when the whole fleet was still together and in perpetual motion. There were so many factors—resources, psychological dynamics on crowded ships, shortages in certain skill areas, boredom for some while others threatened to crack from the pressure of relentless work, repairs, the need to find raw materials...not to mention medical needs, legal matters, and education. It was a floating nation—a nation at war, threatened by enemy attacks even as it tried to find a pulse, a rhythm that could be sustained. He shook his head, sighing at the visible mishmash in front of him, struggling to bring structure to what amounted to a puzzle made of liquids—free-flowing, taking the shape of whatever surrounded it, slippery and ephemeral.

Knowing he had the training and intellect to cut a swath through the murky waters, Lee resolutely reviewed the documents before him. He began categorizing by the types of decisions required, then prioritized within each section, delegating to members of the Rescue Strategy Group or to the civilian captains. When relevant, Lee noted his decisions and next steps, or made recommendations; he forced himself to limit the parameters informing his actions. Apollo was finally beginning to trust his instincts, knowing when to obtain additional information and when to make the call. He smiled for a split second, thinking about his father—what he would perceive of Lee now. _I've made my choice, Dad—finally decided which side I'm on. I actually chose the yoke of military leadership—just as you hoped I would. Will it actually make a difference?_

Running his fingers through his hair, triggering his mind to re-engage with the tasks at hand, he analyzed the tactical schematics and tried to absorb the confluence of resources needed to make the strategy come to life. At the time of the Occupation, there were 170 vipers between Pegasus and Galactica, and only 50 pilots. The RSG had determined 350 pilot recruits would be needed to ensure a minimum of 250 completed training; that was leaving little margin for shift coverage and pilot losses incurred over time. Two hundred vipers would be necessary to pull off the attack sweeps, defense maneuvers, and rescue cover, along with 30 raptors for transport of people and supplies. The RSG had the required raptor ship contingent, at least, though recruiting would need to fill out the pilot ranks here as well.

To reach target goals, the RSG had to locate the raw materials to build additional vipers and ammunition. Fuel was another key consideration—not only for the ships in space, but the ships on the ground. During the settlement on New Caprica, it had been determined the mining and refining vessels would not survive a planet entry, given they had never been designed for a ground landing; it meant Lee now had the ability to mine and refine tyrillium, if a source could be located. Captain Michael Larsen of the ship Euripides had proven to be invaluable as part of the RSG; working with the rest of the fleet's captains, he'd been able to locate a planetary geologist. The geologist was currently reviewing chart data and spectroscopy readings to determine likely planets for tyrillium; coordinating with Tigh, she'd calculated it would take three weeks to mine and refine sufficient quantities for the rescue mission and the reintegration, providing fuel for 20 jumps with the projected full fleet contingent. The geologist had also been charged with finding water and vegetation targets, though Lee believed tyrillium was the critical component, given the length of advance time needed. He hoped the defense battle plan would give the military a window of opportunity, when on New Caprica, to secure fresh water and food stores, relieving the urgency to locate those resources ahead of time.

Which left the most daunting challenge to be addressed: obtaining the raw materials and finding the right people to build another 20 or 30 vipers. The Pegasus, a flag warship, had been designed to support not only viper repairs, but actual ship building. Captain Larsen, working with Major Parker, the Resources Officer, had been gathering leads on where to scrounge up metal scrap and wiring; so far, approximately 20 vipers could be built with the components collected. The next hurdle: finding mechanics and welders with knowledge and talent to complete the actual construction. Lee had assigned that job to Kat and Racetrack, since they had the most vested interest in the ship-building results. There were seven military equipment construction personnel who'd remained on Galactica and Pegasus. Captain Larsen believed at least 40 more were needed to complete the ships in any reasonable time table, and even then, additional equipment would need to be built in order to construct the ships.

His chest constricting, Apollo forced himself to take ten deep breaths. It was so easy to skip ahead, let anxiety take hold…he struggled to see how to reach the end goal, with so many time-consuming steps stretching into the future. He would need to lean harder on Racetrack and Kat to pick up the pace in screening for pilots, as well as for knuckle-draggers. There was a great deal of manual work to be done in assembling vipers from scratch, and training for that many pilot groups would take at least two months. _Two months_. How many settlers would die in that time? Could his father hold on that long? Could Kara? It would mean four months of occupation…and four months could feel like four years, if the conditions were severe enough. It was long enough to lose yourself, forget what you stood for, forget what you hoped for your future…Lee knew it painfully well. A sudden flash of memory shuddered through him…_gurney jerking across the pavement as the medical transport from Eos landed on Caprica; flashes of his father's face; harsh lights shining in his eyes as the gurney wheels skated along the halls to the hospital room; pain gripping him every minute of every day afterward, as he moved through physical rehabilitation._ "Enough!" he shouted aloud, banishing the Eos memories to the background again.

"Uhhhh….Commander? Are you free? It sounded like you were talking to someone…"

"Just myself, Lieutenant Agathon. Normal for today…is it time for our run already?" Lee was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to keep track of time again, given his record over the past 24 hours.

"Yeah—I had a feeling you'd still be here, so I thought I'd swing by, then we could hit the lockers and take the sweep of the ship at our usual pace." Helo was grinning; he and Lee tended to run quickly, and the other crew members had taken to calling them the "Nike twins."

"Let's go—this operational stuff is driving me mad. I need to work this excess energy off."

After a short stop to change, the two men hit the main corridor, listening to one another's feet until the rhythm fully established itself.

"So, Lee, what'd the doc have to say?"

Lee chuckled. "That I should get laid…"

"Come again?"

"Nothing…just a string of wisdom gems Cottle thought to share…he said it's probably the interrupted sleep, and the lack of rest in general, that led to my current symptoms."

"Uh-huh. Interrupted sleep, eh? Having dreams?"

"Yeah. Maybe even while awake…" Lee wanted to ask Karl a few questions, but had decided he wasn't going to share the whole story about the Priestess…not even half of the whole.

Karl looked at him for a moment as they continued the run. "Okay, Apollo, not funny—you can't say something like that and then let it fade!"

"I did something. Something uncharacteristic for me. I saw a Priestess yesterday."

"Well, Lee, a little prayer wouldn't hurt anyone right—"

"No, not in the official temple."

"Oh. Oh…"

"Yeah, I know. We'll skip over the part on how I ended up deciding to do it, and we'll move along past the actual words she said to me—"

"No, you don't….you don't get to leave out all of the details, Lee. How can I help if—"

"Just listen, Karl, okay? I will share the 'prophecy'…maybe…another time. I still need to process it myself now, and if I said—well, you might think I was unfit for duty, if you heard me try to describe the conversation."

"Fair enough…as if I have a choice." Karl smiled; he was willing to accept Lee's assessment on faith for the moment.

"But I do have two questions I wanted to ask, since I've certainly been thinking about things after my encounter with the Priestess." Lee pulled out of the jog, slowing to a walk so he could breathe more easily while he talked. Karl did the same.

Staring straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact, Lee posed the first question. "How do you know when you've hit 'destiny'—that you're doing what you've always been meant to do, were born to do?"

Helo stopped in his tracks, his jaw slack. "Wow, Apollo. That's a really heavy question for this hour of the morning…isn't that more of a 'gee, we're drunk, let's discuss the meaning of life' type question?" He wanted to support his leader and emerging friend, but it was hard to know where to go with an opener like that…

"I…maybe, but I'm sober and I want a sober response from you. Please, Karl—it's unusual to ask, I realize, but it's important." He studied the man's eyes, hoping for the insights Helo usually grasped so easily.

Helo nodded and started walking again. "I guess…it's never been as—well, you're a bit more complex than I am, in that regard, Lee—I never had the same expectations placed on me, so it was easier to 'hear' myself early on in life." Lee glanced at Karl, grateful for his sensitivity.

"I can tell you what the feeling's like, if that's any help…it's a calm certainty. There's no questioning, no analysis, no anxiety, not even a feeling of wanting to rush forward to get to 'it,' whatever that is. You feel…well, you feel peace, I guess. Centered and whole. Energized, but at the same time, willing to take things as they come to reach the goals ahead."

"…I'm not sure…no, I can say with clarity, I haven't experienced that yet."

"Really? Because Kara said—"

"Kara—what's Kara got to do with this?" There was a strange look in Lee's eyes—fear and recognition and want churning together.

"Kara talked with me, sometimes, about how she met you, what you were like before…"

"Before Zak's death."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Lee; I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine, Karl—honestly. But it wasn't just Zak's death; it was the impact of the Eos mission." Lee resisted the impulse to start running again, feeling the anxiety growing like a virus within.

"The Eos mission? I…other than those photos you have, Lee, I've never heard you—or anyone else—talk about it."

"And I'm not going to start now." Lee's voice was cold and sharp.

"No problem…your conversation, remember?" Helo was puzzled; he wasn't sure what any of this was about, and the situation was beginning to feel laden with unspoken meanings he wanted to unravel or block out, he wasn't confident which yet.

"So, what was it Kara said?"

"She talked about how on fire you were when you gave those lectures at the Academy; passionate, confident, humming with energy and purpose. Starbuck loved the way your eyes widened as you described tactical maneuvers and battle strategies."

Lee paused, resting his back against the metal wall. His voice was muted when he spoke. "I was…she was…you're right, Karl. I did feel that centeredness you describe, back then. It was so long ago, I'd forgotten." He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself the luxury of remembering that night, when he'd been with her, soaked up her scent in his skin, joined with her. He had been certain of his "destiny" that next morning—military leader and soul-mate to Kara Thrace. Only the two had proved mutually exclusive…hadn't they?

"So, the current question is, what would it take for you to find that feeling again?" Karl put his hand on Lee's shoulder, offering his silent support to help the man get there.

"I…I'm at a loss with that, Karl. I know—" tears suddenly leapt into Lee's throat; he had to stop, pull it back in. Exhaling a loud sigh, Lee opened his eyes and stood straight, moving forward in a walk again.

"You've helped me, Karl. I'm going to stop there for now, and hope we can pick up this part of the conversation at a later time, after I've had a chance to think through your insights." Helo said nothing; no matter his curiosity, it would be of no help to push Lee Adama to talk further. He wasn't good at articulating his inner workings to anyone; Karl was surprised they'd made this much progress in a discussion.

"So, here's the second question…"

Karl looked startled that Lee was pressing forward, but gestured his encouragement.

"Do you think Kara can ever love herself?"

"Oh, man, Apollo—that is _definitely_ a 'drinking buddies' kind of question. What the frak did that Priestess say, anyway—she really tapped some nerves!"

"Helo, please, just…what do you believe?"

"I…Lee, I can't answer…I don't honestly know how to answer you. I'm her best friend, but she's…ineffable. Her childhood taught her about fear, about anger, about self-loathing. She is infinitely loveable—but she doesn't see that. Could she ever find—well, centeredness, peace, the space to accept the whole of herself? I'm not sure."

"That's what I thought." Lee shook his head; again, he wondered, how could a god supposedly give his essence to a creature so tortured and lost? _Lee, frak me—you don't even believe in any of this… _

"Karl—"

"Wait, Lee. I want…I feel prompted to tell you something else." Apollo stopped, his body trembling internally for unknown reasons as he faced Karl.

"Go ahead, Karl."

"You—if anyone could help her get there, it would be you."

"Gods, Helo—why would you say that?"

"Because…because you are the embodiment of your namesake, your call sign, more than you realize. You are a healer, Apollo; you can break the cycle. It's your faith in her, and hers in you."

Lee was breathing shallowly, marveling at how Helo's words echoed those of the Priestess. "Helo, you're frakkin' wrong. You have to be. She sees you as her best friend, sees Sam as—" he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Even my father…I think he's had more faith in her than in me. I can't be anybody's savior..."

Helo gripped Lee's arm painfully, bringing them both to a sudden halt. "Godsdamnit, Apollo, there you go again, into that frakkin' hole of self-doubt and self-pity. Enough. Enough!" Lee stood there, bewildered by Karl's sudden anger.

Realizing he was handling his commanding officer, Helo dropped his grip. "I'm…sorry. It's just—you can be so frustrating, sometimes, exactly like Kara. The two of you—one day, the two of you need to share your childhood stories—every godsdamned detail. And then you need to help each other forgive and heal. It's no wonder neither of you can figure out your 'destiny'-there's so much noise inside, too much tousling between mind and body, heart and soul. Then, while you're at it, you both should lay out the other details—the things that happened between that last lecture at the Academy and the day Kara married Sam on New Caprica."

It was Lee's turn to grip Helo's arm too tightly. "What—you know something…something you're not saying…"

"I know a great deal. And it isn't my place to 'say' anything. To you or to her. But I will tell you one thing I'm sure of: Kara won't manifest her true talents until she deals with her baggage. You, my friend, have been destined for greatness—larger-than-life, historical greatness—and won't manifest that either until you deal with _your_ baggage. We all need—our survival depends on—Lee and Kara getting their crap together. Can you do that?" Karl's tone was firm and loud; he was being too bold, forgetting his place, and he didn't care. Lee needed to come to terms with some things, pull out of himself, fight to break the chains holding him back.

"Do you really believe I'm…destined for…"

"Yes, damnit Lee, I really do. So does Sharon. So does your father—it's one of the reasons he always pushed you so hard."

Apollo took Karl's hand, squeezing it before hugging him with a quick slap on the back. "Thank you." They had arrived at Lee's quarters, and it was time to move on to the planned duties of the day.

"You okay?" Helo felt strange leaving Lee at this juncture in the conversation.

"Yeah, fine. Better. We'll…I know I'll want to talk more with you, given a little time. I appreciate—I know why Kara trusts you as her closest friend." Apollo smiled warmly; his admiration for his XO was increasing steadily over time.

"I'm heading to the Galactica today, for meetings with Tigh and Dee. I'll be back in time for CIC watch."

The men parted; when Lee managed to get inside the hatch to his room, he sank back into the couch and let the tears work their way through his body. He wondered if this was a permanent change, crying so much; it wasn't aligned with any leadership model he'd heard of. But it meant something: he was feeling again, and emerging from the numbness that had defined his life for far too long.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Ten Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee watched the dradis intently, listening to the newly graduated nuggets work on the maneuvers for the initial wave of planet penetration. Kat was having them practice the decoy runs first, and it wasn't going well.

Helo had insisted two of the Pegasus pilots, Captain Simmons and Lieutenant Valroy, were the right people to recruit and train the nuggets—Lee had his doubts, preferring the two CAGs to take over the responsibilities. Helo, with Tigh's agreement, had argued the CAGs must focus all of their time on plotting maneuvers, then guiding the nuggets in the cockpits to execute the different mission steps. A three-week training program had been developed by Simmons and Valroy to start growing the ranks of the pilots rapidly. Lee clenched his teeth reflecting on the training; the idea of viper pilots flying missions after three weeks seemed ridiculous to his logical mind, but they had little choice. Precious months were slipping by, and it would do no good to have a precision rescue plan but no one left alive to rescue.

The first four classes, run in tandem over the past six weeks, had just "graduated," if it could be called that. So far, Lee wasn't impressed with Simmons' and Valroy's work—basic military formations were missed, they couldn't trap well, and the refueling process had been disastrous. Kat's voice told him she was disgusted with the nuggets right now, and Racetrack sounded just as fed up.

Looking over at Helo, Lee decided he needed to split the difference in training approach. "Captain Agathon, please have Simmons and Valroy report with you to the Situation Room in five." He picked up the com next, to talk to the pilots. "This is Commander Adama. Racetrack and Kat—come back to the barn and meet in the Situation Room in fifteen; Hotdog, Seelix, and Tightwire, divide into three flight groups and work on strafing maneuvers, then one-on-one defensive tactics."

Walking into the Situation Room, Lee saw Simmons and Valroy standing, with Helo in the corner studying his boots intently. "At ease, men," Lee stated evenly. "Walk me through the military formations you've covered with the nuggets." For the next 20 minutes, the flight instructors reviewed the film footage, testing, and manuals being used. As Racetrack and Kat joined, Lee asked them to take notes, then share thoughts on what corrections or additions needed to be made. For the next three hours, the group hashed out the structure and flow of the training, working on how to maximize the learning time. Lee and Helo agreed the nuggets needed to get into cockpits from the first week; it was taking too long for them to get their space legs and develop a feel for the machine. Lee insisted, for the groups already trained, Kat and Racetrack would should go back and spend another week reviewing key military maneuvers and formations with them, helping the nuggets recognize the types of flight runs all of the pilots would be expected to execute during the rescue mission itself.

Satisfied, finally, with the direction of the plans, Lee looked directly at Simmons and Valroy.

"I know this is challenging, even daunting. Thirty thousand people on New Caprica, and ten thousand colonials up here are counting on us, however, to exceed the bar—it's likely to be an all-or-nothing proposition. We cannot fail in this, or everything of the past 18 months will have been for nothing—no humanity left, no future. I am entrusting you with the core of our mission—getting our pilots ready for battle. See that you honor that trust; you have the skill, and I'm confident the two of you will make sure we don't have any other experiences like today." Surveying the wider room, he nodded at the door and said "Dismissed."

Helo lingered behind, and Apollo remained seated, to give attention to his XO. "What's on your mind, Helo?"

"I've been reviewing the battle plans. Some slick moves in there, Commander—but do you think—"

"Do I believe we can get pilots who are skilled enough to execute?" Karl sighed in response.

"Actually, I do; I have confidence Racetrack and Kat will get them the rest of the way. It will be razor-thin timing; we may not believe the attack runs are meshing well until we're ready to jump back to New Caprica."

"Agreed. Kat's come into her own as a CAG, hasn't she—I wouldn't have thought she could pull it out with this much strength, but she has." Karl was genuinely impressed with Kat's skills.

"She's a lot like Starbuck; maybe that's why they disliked each other so much." Lee smiled slightly, and Helo did as well.

"Is that why you like her?"

Lee hitched his breath. "What?"

"As your CAG, Lee—gods, what did you think I meant?"

"I didn't think you meant anything, Karl, I'd…just lost my…train of thought for a second. Yeah, that's why I like Kat in the role—she's got the right mix of tough and kind, guiding and directing." Anxious to change the subject, Lee realized Helo hadn't talked about the real reason he was still sitting in the room.

"So, out with it, XO."

"There's a contingency we've missed in the overall battle plans, and I want to discuss it with you. It's possible that…we need to prepare for the likelihood we could lose one of the battlestars."

Lee studied his hands for a moment, fingers steepled, forehead tense. "I had considered it…but I wasn't sure it would do any good to worry the others."

"We're at war, Apollo—they know the odds."

"Intellectually, yes. But psychologically—there are superstitious people aboard these ships, Helo. If I put out a plan with that contingency, we'd be accused of sabotaging our chances, putting that idea out there for the gods to grab hold and use."

"I figured that was your reasoning. So we won't 'put it out there'—we'll keep it within the RSG for the time being. But it has to be addressed, Lee."

Adama studied his XO's features. "Gut feeling?"

"Gods forgive me…yes."

"Draw them up then, Karl, and I'll take a look to add my thoughts. There are different considerations, depending on which ship—"

"I know. I'll cover both scenarios."

"Good. Are you…are we finished for the moment? I have to check in with Tigh on a few things."

"Ready to go. Don't forget the workout session at 1800—Kat and I thought climbing would be a great activity." Karl was grinning; he liked the implied analogy, given the odds they were facing each day.

Lee groaned. "I'll be there. I'm sure, after an afternoon with Tigh, I'll be ready to let off some steam anyway."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was 2100 hours; Apollo was sore and exhausted from the extensive repelling practice. He wanted to get some sleep; it had been difficult at first, but Lee had managed to find six hours, most nights, to stick with his pledge to Dr. Cottle. Tonight, however, wasn't looking good for meeting the goal. He'd just finished reading another chapter of some obscure legal drama story his father had kept on Galactica, and practiced two or three jump calculations manually, adhering to another component of Cottle's prescription. Normally, it would have been time to hit the rack, but tonight, he'd agreed to meet up with Kat in the Situation Room to review a new entry strategy she'd developed for the on-ground operations. Lee had been reluctant, at first, but Kat was excited to share the tactical surprises in the plan, and he didn't want to discourage her.

Putting on his fatigues, he poured a glass of water and sat in the large chair in his bedroom, rubbing his forehead with his right hand to force the tension between his eyes to subside. He was pretty sure he was going to feel more tension by the time the meeting was over; his sexual fantasies about Kat had been more frequent, over the past week, and he was fighting to control impulses. It was insane to allow himself to fantasize about her—she was an officer, reporting to him. _And denying yourself the pleasures of intimacy because of fraternization regs had been such a good idea with Kara—that's how you lost her to Zak, and then to Sam. _He stood up, shaking the recriminations off. No time for wallowing any more—Helo had been right about that.

Walking towards the main deck, Lee considered the reasons his feelings for Luanne were developing at all. It was primarily because she made him laugh, and it felt so good to rediscover humor, no matter how black or silly it might be. _ You and Kara laughed so easily together, before she went back to Caprica and met Sam… _Gods, it was hard to believe how his mind worked, sometimes.

As Lee stepped into the Situation Room, watching Kat setting up the models on the war table, he remembered the other reason she was so appealing: her enthusiasm. Kat had passion, lived by her instincts, and when she was excited or pissed, she knew exactly why and expressed it freely. He envied her that; after all these years, he still had a "stick up his ass," as Kara so fondly reminded him in the past.

Spotting Apollo in the room, Kat gestured for him to come over to the table. As she began animatedly explaining how she'd come up with a strategy to deceive the Cylon basestars' sensors, create a distraction, and get troops on the ground, Lee felt feverish—her energy was infectious, and suddenly he wanted more of something. More of _her_.

Kat was moving the models to show the finer points of the tactical maneuvers, and Lee stepped up behind her to get a better view of the battle lines. Without conscious thought, he found himself standing close enough to disrupt her hair slightly as he let out each breath. He trembled; he was about to cross a line, a line self-respecting Commanders didn't cross. His desire, however, was beginning to actually overwhelm him. Placing his hands lightly on her hips, he breathed into her left ear before placing his lips softly below the earlobe, kissing her there and then sliding his lips and tongue lightly backwards down her neck, at an angle. He felt her shiver, heard a small moan escape, encouraging him to give into the madness of his sexual hunger.

He moved back to her ear, and slid his tongue around the inner curves. Kat turned her head back to find his mouth, and he moved a hand to her jaw, fully kissing her. "Gods," he moaned, as he started exploring with his tongue in earnest, pressing deep into her mouth. He pulled her to face him, and pushed her against the table, rubbing his erection impatiently against her thigh. She slid her hands under his tank, stroking his chest and then his back.

Thrusting his hands into her wild, curly mane of hair, he moaned loudly as hers slid over his hard shaft. Roughly, with a feralness that gripped him with unsettling strength, he dragged her tanks over her head so he could suck her nipples freely and run his hands deep between her legs. Lee felt how wet she was, smelled her sexual arousal, and after struggling with the waist button of her pants, frustrated, he broke the zipper. Ripping the pants open just to be able to touch her slick center, he eagerly slid his fingers deeply into her as he massaged her in the right spot with his thumb. She was shaking, grabbing his hair, reaching to get his pants undone and off him.

Kat's hands moved down Lee's torso, pulling and stroking; Lee's head fell to her shoulder as his breath caught and he almost lost control. She rubbed the lubricated head with the tips of her fingers, knowing he was already close, and then fell to her knees, pulling his full length into her mouth in one move. He cried out, unable to check himself; he'd been so hungry for the contact, for her, for frakking with abandon. After a few minutes of the heat around his shaft, he pulled her up by her hair, almost violently, and turned her body so her ass pressed into him. He slid himself along her backside, reveling in her skin and the feel of her ass, as he wound his hands around the front, playing with her nipples and stroking her to climax. She shuddered, with an intense guttural sound escaping her mouth as she came for the first time. Lee pushed her forward on the table, to get the needed angle, and thrust himself into her with a loud groan of pleasure and relief. He thrust again, hard into her, gripping her hips roughly as he gave himself over to the wild sensation of frakking recklessly. Her pelvis slid harshly against the table edge, and she could feel another orgasm coming in a frightening wave. Lee groaned loudly, driving deep with each push into her, then let out an anguished howl as he finally came, plunging himself in again and again to milk the climax for as long as he could ride it, his mind exploding in color as he let the intensity of his release flood each region of his body.

He finally leaned over her back, pressing her chest against the table, struggling for air and to regain some sense of normal mental awareness. They both stood up; He wrapped his strong arms tightly around her chest and stomach, as she was still shaking, and he felt her legs start to weaken, so he guided her body to lean into him. He continued to embrace her, letting the warmth of their bodies wash over him. For some reason, as he listened to her gasp for air too, felt her trembling, he was compelled to whisper, "shhhh, it's alright, it's alright" into her ear. Concentrating on what to say, since neither had spoken a word after he'd kissed her neck, he braced her for a second, hugging her a little closer, as he whispered her name: "Louanne…" She startled, and seemed to want to begin talking; instead, Lee covered her mouth gently-- "no, please, let me get it out first."

As Kat nodded slightly, he dropped his hand back around her waist and moved in close to her ear, exhaling his warm breath in slow, easy measures. "Louanne, I know how this probably looks, but I … this wasn't just so I could 'get off.' '' He waited, wondering how much to confess, and found himself just laying it out. "I like being with you. I've fantasized for the past weeks how it would feel to kiss you—_take_ you." He paused; she wasn't trembling any more. She began caressing his arm around her waist; he decided to push the rest of the words out. "I know I'm not in a position to ask or offer anything, but I really want to keep seeing you…I _want_ you intensely." He'd surprised himself by the last statement, as his voice rumbled low and heated over the words.

She turned around, brushing him with her whole body. His leapt up to attention immediately, and he found himself taking her tongue into his mouth again, hungry—insatiable hunger. Gods, Lee thought, when did his body become so wired, like he was nineteen again? Kat gave as good as she got, gripping his hair while holding him closer. He swung his arms around and splayed his hands across her lower torso, to arch her backwards—he could picture them, Sam and Kara, in the same form—and then she felt how hard he was, stroking him, and he was in the present, only, letting himself feel pleasure—hell, feel everything and anything at all.

"Let's take this back to my quarters, Lieutenant, so I can see your strategies with more time to appreciate them…" he smirked. They hastily dressed, some sloppy semblance of their former appearance, and he moved stealthily towards his room, whispering for her to move when he could see no one coming down the hall. As soon as his hatch closed, Lee's hands were everywhere on her, and he was tasting, licking, caressing every inch of Kat's skin.

Throughout the night, he would sleep for an hour, then brush against her body and be swept up again and again in the fierce appetite that seemed to grip him. When he was able to think, in between the waves of hunger, he admitted he was startled by it all—he hadn't found this kind of stamina since his Academy days, and he hadn't been sure it was still even possible. The wanton desire—was he just that starved for sex? Had he been going through the motions for so long he didn't realize he wasn't getting any pleasure from being with Dee? That didn't fit, somehow; though he had lost a lot of interest in sex, deep into his depression, he hadn't denied it from his wife, and he did always escape, however briefly, in the release. It just hadn't lasted for more than a few minutes, before the weight crashed into his chest again.

Kat punched his arm, letting him know she was awake, shaking him from his thoughts. A little eerily, and not for the first time in the past few months, she seemed to verbally answer his mental uncertainties.

"Those primal urges you've got, Apollo--it's about connecting to the core, y'know? We have to feel we're really alive. Food is – what's that word—'sustenance,' but it isn't sustaining. You found that out the hard way…" she smacked his ass.

"Only three things that make you feel really connected and grateful for just being alive—flying, sex, and a taking a good dump in the morning!" She laughed, and he shook his head at her coarseness—it made him cringe but somehow it also made him relaxed.

Kat needed no pretenses from anyone. Lee could be as rough and crass as he ever dreamed of being—he could be imperfect, greedy, emotional even—and she'd never think twice about it—there was a type of freedom she offered in that, and it was somehow as heady as swooping a viper into the inkiness of space.

Suddenly, she looked at him and said, "nope, there are four things, 'cause a hot shower is better than a great frak, depending on the day." He had to tickle her in agreement, laughing loudly at her squirming and cursing. He then moved on top of her and got lost in his primal urges once more. They both winced, raw from so much activity in a short period, but nothing stopped him once he was in the grip again.

After Apollo finally passed out in earnest, Kat shifted on her back, to try to make sense of the past hours too. Before Apollo had finally said something, back in the Situation Room, she'd been stricken for a moment. She realized she wanted him, badly, and there were so many reasons to think he just needed to get laid, a one-time release that a lot of soldiers sought out in the stress of war. But Apollo rarely did something casually; he didn't know how to stay on the surface of anything. When he told Kat he'd been wanting her for some time, she believed him. For whatever reason, he did enjoy time with her—she'd felt that a lot, growing bit by bit as each week went by.

Kat was a pragmatic person; she didn't dwell on love or marriage or entanglements. Clean, simple, direct-line relationships were her style, and she was pretty sure that's what Apollo could handle right now. He might be able to genuinely care about someone, but he wasn't about to fall in love, and neither was she. With an estranged wife and the love of his life married to someone else, Apollo had complexity aplenty; just maybe, though, what he needed, in this space of time, was something clean and simple. Why the man gave his heart to either of those women was beyond her; they'd both trampled on his, showing little respect for the gift of himself he'd made, particularly to Thrace. Still, he was intense and layered; she wouldn't know how to take all of that in either, if she'd been Starbuck.

Missions, physical workouts, sex—yeah, that would exceed her expectations for a good while. She snuggled back into Apollo's warm body, and drifted into a deep sleep—_that's the fifth thing, sleep_, she thought before losing consciousness….

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An irritating sound jostled Lee awake; it was the com. Barely able to open his eyes, he reached up for the receiver—at first nothing would come from his voice, so he tried again—"Adama here."

Helo paused—had Lee been drinking hard last night? "Uh, your XO—we had a meeting at 0700—"

"Frak," Lee muttered. This affair thing was off to a great start—raising suspicions in less than 24 hours—what could he say to explain it away?

"Sorry, Helo—I was in the Situation Room late last night, reviewing attack runs on the boards—"

"Say no more, Commander. We've all been pushing hard, and Kat and I gave you a punishing workout yesterday too." _What a choice of words_, Lee chuckled silently. Helo added, "grab some extra rack time; I'll cover your rounds for three hours."

"Thanks…" it was all Lee could think to say. His whole body was relaxed yet sore; his mind would not come back together and squeeze out the holes where essential thoughts and phrases seemed to be falling in, escaping his mental grasp. He hung up the com, and looked down to admire the mass of curls covering his shoulder. Kat's hair had a mind of its own—it suited her well, gloriously auburn with gold highlights, wild and soft at the same time.

Kat stirred; he could tell, the way her face scrunched up in discomfort, she was feeling the aftereffects of his spent hunger, her body ravaged and chafed. "Hi, wild woman," he said affectionately. "Sorry for the…"

"Shut the frak up, already, Apollo!" Kat whipped out, startling him slightly. "Don't apologize for giving a girl the best night of frakking in her life, okay? It's just stupid." She grinned evilly, and he yanked her hair hard.

"Gods, you're testy in the morning," he joked.

Kat sat up, suddenly realizing something—"Damn, Apollo, what time is it? I've got CAP at 0730!"

Realizing he could not afford to have Helo put two-and-two together, with both of them off schedule, he shoved her out of the rack.

"Hey!" she protested, but he pointed at the chrono. "Frak, frak, frak, frak, frak…."she swore over and over under her breath. It was 0720, and it would take 7 minutes to cross the ship to the hangar deck, leaving 3 minutes to get her flight suit on. She realized the immediate danger too—they wouldn't be able to let things go very far if rumors started now. Sighing in resignation at the sight of her pants—she could button the waist, but the gape left by the non-functioning zipper could only be masked by taking one of Apollo's non-military issued fatigue shirts—she grabbed one of them and pulled her boots on, before moving towards the front of the room.

"Remember to report for our evening War briefing, Lieutenant," Apollo shouted out, as she slammed the hatch. He fell back into his rack, a contented grin on his face, and was asleep in less time than it took Kat to reach the hangar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Galactica, Eleven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

The com sounded in his quarters, ringing incessantly. Tigh, still half-drunk from the previous night's liquor session, cursed mightily, refusing to pick up the receiver. His XO, Dualla, was a persistent bitch, he thought—he could feel her disapproval of his habits radiating from her every word and action, and it was more wearing than the daily hangovers. Tigh was starting to appreciate what Lee had been struggling through; Dualla appeared to be careful and reserved, minding her own business, but in truth, she had judgments about everything—and everyone. In Tigh's mind, Lee could be equally judgmental, but the Admiral's son was rapidly losing that self-righteousness—maybe experiencing the criticism daily with his own wife had shifted Lee's behavior.

Wives—Tigh grimaced in pain, thinking of his own, of Ellen. He wondered if she was alive, cursing the day he'd let her go down on that damn planet without him. Ellen wasn't strong in the face of deprivation and crises; she wanted her creature comforts, wanted security and the pleasures of a stress-free daily life. Ellen was stronger than she (or anyone else) gave herself credit for, but Cylon occupation went beyond the realm of Ellen's stress tolerance—Tigh was sure of that. He could only hope Bill had found Ellen and was protecting her; he believed the Old Man would want to keep Ellen safe, knowing how much his friend loved the woman.

Grunting at the effort, he swung his legs out of his rack, trying to push back the mental confusion the alcohol created—there was still too much of the ethanol mixing with his blood—and he gripped the edge of the bed hard as a wave of pain emanated from behind his eyes and across his face. _Gods, I am honestly getting too old for this behavior,_ he thought dejectedly. Forcing himself to the head, he showered, shaved, and took something to help with the headache and nausea sure to follow him throughout the day.

Making his way to the CIC, he decided to stop in the commanding officer's Ready Room, using the corridor entrance—there would be some coffee on the table, and it might help him get a little mental sharpness back. He was surprised, as he entered the room, to see Dualla there, her body wracked with sobs. With a welling of compassion moving into his throat, he walked to her and lightly set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them firmly. She gasped, not realizing someone was witness to her emotions of sorrow and shame—she was alarmed to turn around and see Tigh in front of her. He still smelled somewhat of alcohol, but he was standing steady, which was more than she could say for herself at the moment, and he seemed to be trying to offer her support.

Silently, Tigh pulled the woman towards him, putting his arms awkwardly around her. She started crying harder, at first. He imagined his Ellen, frightened and overwhelmed, and began saying "now, now, it's going to be okay" softly, resting a hand around her head, brushing her hair. Eventually, the sobs subsided, and she pulled away, standing up a bit straighter.

"I apologize, Sir, for the lack of decorum," Dee stated, not ready to look him in the eyes.

"We are all grappling with our circumstances, Lieutenant," he said kindly.

Dee chided herself for the harsh things she had just been thinking about the man only a half-hour before. "Thank you, Sir," was all she could think to say.

Tigh opening his mouth to say more, but hesitated—he knew a lot about Adama men and their stunted communication skills; he also knew a lot about their obsessive attachment to Kara Thrace. Would it help to share any of those bits of knowledge with Dualla, or make things worse?

He cleared his throat and decided to offer what counsel he could—she was his XO, in this moment, and he needed to stabilize her emotions, get them both thinking about the tactical realities ahead.

"Lieutenant, this is probably not my place, normally, to say what I'm about to say…" He looked at her eyes, fixed intently on his face. "As my XO, though, I need to be sure you're focused—that we're both focused on the mission before us." Dee nodded, crossing her arms to brace herself for what Tigh might say next.

"The Adama men are complicated—you know that. What you may have realized now, though, marrying into the family, is that they've got pieces of themselves missing—wounds that never closed, holes with air passing through them. The intensity of their feelings, their passions—the two don't understand how to manage the outcomes, which is why they can be hurt so profoundly. Their very nature's been bent, as a result, and they've compensated in strange ways. We've all got wounds—Gods know I've got enough vices to prove the effects of…." He stopped; this wasn't the time to get personal about himself.

"What I'm trying to say is those open wounds—it's their chief character flaw. Neither Bill or Lee know how to really seal things back up, let go and move on. So it's easier to keep the defenses up all the time, keep new holes from forming, since they can't deal with the ones already there. If they could talk…" he sighed.

"If they could force words to come out, stop treating emotions like an alien part of themselves, express the inner stuff that drives us all crazy—well, then they might be able to look beyond their own needs more often, really see the people around them that love them."

Dee's eyes welled up; she nodded, and gestured her hand out from her body for a moment, encouraging Tigh to continue. Dee was sure Kara was going to come into this at some point, and no matter the pain, understanding the pull of that woman might help Dee move on with her life, accept what had happened.

Sure enough, Kara's name was next. "Starbuck—Starbuck's nature is the same. Hell, she's more extreme; I think she suffered the most in her past…at least that's how I've tried to rationalize her character. Bill and Lee—well, they feel that kinship, the mutual understanding with a creature as wounded and inarticulate as they are."

Dee weighed that statement for a few moments; was it that simple? What could have happened in the lives of those three people to make them so stunted emotionally, so trapped in themselves?

Tigh watched her face, knowing she was coming to some pointed realizations. "Lee—Commander Adama—is dealing with a lot of internal energy he can't dissipate. Now, maybe he's coming out of himself a bit more, but it's gonna be in fits and starts." Tigh put a hand on Dee's arm, to let her know the hardest part was coming. "I'm not privy to Lee's thoughts, and don't expect to be. I believe he's getting a tether on life again, on leading, because he has a purpose. And that purpose is—"

"Kara," Dee interrupted.

"Yeah; it's a frakked up thing to have to tell you, but I think it's the truth. He wants to save the Old Man, he wants to save the settlers—but if Kara wasn't there, I'm willing to bet he'd still be eating his way into oblivion."

"So, are you trying to get me to throw myself off the upper deck?" She trembled as she said it.

"No, Lieutenant, I'm trying to get you to let go and move on. You've got enough internal strength to do that; Lee is too strangled emotionally to get the words out, address things once and for all."

"He's taken up with Kat—did you know that?" Dee could tell, by the look on Tigh's face, it was a new wrinkle in the mix.

"No, I didn't realize, but it makes sense, in a frakked up, Adama kind of way…Kat's behavior certainly mirrors some of Starbuck's." He saw Dee wince, her body curling up visibly; damn his mouth, still too loose from the alcohol.

Dee looked at him squarely. "No, I can't say I agree with you, Tigh. Kat's straight-forward—she's crass, blunt, but not emotionally stunted, per se. She's just simple—doesn't expect much, doesn't offer much of herself, just enjoys being skilled as a pilot."

"True," Tigh acknowledged, "she can communicate without problem, because it isn't a very complicated world to her. She's all about instinct—and that's probably the appeal. Kat won't want much, especially a lot of emotional communication, and she won't take much from him. She'll help Lee tap into his own instincts. He needs that most, for our fleet to survive and the rescue to succeed."

"Are you saying I can't do that—offer that to him?" The tone was slightly acidic, but equally anxious. Tigh took a deep breath.

"I can only go by what I've seen, and to be honest, I don't see that with you. It's not a flaw, something to hang your head over; Lee was drawn to you because you're a thinker and analyzer."

"But once the mission is accomplished, he might want a more—" here, Tigh cut her off.

"Dee, once the mission's accomplished, Gods willing, Starbuck'll be back, and the Admiral, and we'll be damned lucky if Apollo can hold onto his instincts. Only boldness is gonna keep us all alive, from this point on."

"So I should give up on him, my husband, for the sake of the fleet?" Now she sounded bitter, petulant.

"I didn't say that; you should give up on him for the sake of yourself. Gods, woman, why would you want a man in love with someone else? I bet Kat realizes Apollo's heart is with Starbuck--she watched it for a long time. If they are frakking, Kat's not gonna invest too much beyond the obvious, any more than he is." By this time, Tigh was growing very impatient and irritated. They were already way out of his comfort zone, and it was also beyond the range of an officer counseling talk; maybe he'd been wrong to go down this road with Dee.

She saw the contempt flash across Tigh's face; the conversation needed to end. Taking Tigh's hand into her own, for a brief moment, she just said "Thank you, XO. I think I understand, and I appreciate your compassion."

Tigh tried to read Dee's face—was the statement dripping with sarcasm, or did she really see what he'd been getting at? He couldn't tell; the energy in the room, though, was calm and still.

Dee walked past him, holding her head up a little higher, and went in the direction of the CIC. Grabbing at long last the coffee he'd needed 30 minutes ago, he turned to follow her, barking orders as he entered the main area.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tigh was resting his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face to keep awake. The details of the rescue and reintegration plans were endless; he and Helo had spent the past three hours working out the necessary ground operations. They were in the Admiral's quarters; Tigh wouldn't sleep there, but he found it was the best place to meet when hours of discussion lay ahead. He picked up the bowl of cold noodles resting on the table, forcing himself to eat.

Helo appeared equally exhausted; Apollo was an exacting leader, forcing a brisk pace, insisting the rescue plan would begin in another six weeks. The man's compulsion for perfection was a source of consternation for all of the members of the RSG, but Tigh had to admit Bill Adama's son was brilliant. The complexity of the operation intimidated Saul at first—he didn't understand how it would be possible to pull off. Lee, though, with his ability to set the large-scale vision and then bore down into the critical elements, had guided the rest of the team; every key aspect was covered by a step-by-step plan, including contingency responses.

The trick was to figure out how the settlement leadership group might respond, and it was no easy task. Helo understood the core elements Sharon would probably focus on, and Tigh was able to explain the areas the Admiral considered essential in enemy ground conditions. Both men had spent enough time with Starbuck to be confident of the role she'd likely play in a rescue operation, and Lee had written out his observations of Roslin to help flesh out the decisions Laura might make in this situation. For the present, the RSG had agreed the ground action strategy would be built on the premise all of the key players were alive and still able to function within the tent city; it would be necessary to liberate those in the detention center early on, so any miscalculations could be corrected in assembling the right people for the rest of the plan to work.

Helo had begun writing out the master document to share with the settlement leadership group once contact was made. It would be difficult, but one or two scouting missions had to be undertaken, setting the right conditions with the colonials on New Caprica for the actual large-scale mission. Using the last known tent city map secured prior to the Occupation, the two officers had identified the weapons drop points, and scoped out the best raptor landing sites; depending on the fortifications and grounds artillery the Cylons had erected in the meantime, adjustments would be made after the reconnaissance sweeps were complete. Lee Adama was confident the settlement leadership group would address the issues related to the grounded ships: launch keys, fueling, and inspections for space-worthiness. Once they knew the battlestars were on the way, the settlers could propel those plans into motion.

All three men agreed the settlement leadership group would draft a ground warfare strategy too, and it would be important to compare tactics prior to the actual strike. Apollo, having studied his father's engagement and infiltration approaches in War College, believed the Admiral would focus on taking over the ground artillery weapons sites, destroying any landed raiders, knocking out key power generators, and hitting as many centurion holding areas as possible. The settlers had few actual guns, but many explosives, which would be easier to hide over the course of a long occupation. It would be up to the RSG to supply a sufficient number of marine platoon leaders, ready to guide the former military members on the planet in overtaking and holding strategic positions. The Cylons on the ground had to be held to an outer perimeter for at least 48 hours, allowing the colonials time to reclaim equipment, food and water supplies, tents and bedding; transport them to the battlestars; and return for additional runs. Without the reclamation plan, the fleet reintegration would fall apart almost before it began; no one could risk the sheer anarchy that might flare into being with so many humans bereft of any basic survival items.

For the RSG, the most gut-wrenching problem remained the basestars. It was possible to take out two or three of the Cylon vessels from the outset, enabling the colonial ground ships to launch back into space and jump, if necessary, to a pre-determined gathering location. It was even probable the military fleet could protect the airspace and coordinate the transport runs for 48 to 72 hours, despite the significant number of raiders sure to remain in the area. But the Cylons would send more basestars, and the military leaders understood there would not be sufficient weapons coverage for that extended a period, not against two or three additional vessels and raider reinforcements. To prevent additional basestars from jumping into the planet's orbit, all hopes rested on Sharon. According to Helo's conversations with her in the past, the Cylons tapped into ship controls through a literal liquid crystal panel. The machines did not distinguish between one another in this process, so if a similar control panel existed on New Caprica, Sharon could ostensibly send false readings back to the other Cylon ships. No one in the RSG was certain such a panel had been installed on the ground; Lee's instincts, however, centered on the sense the Cylons would require at least one of these data access points.

If this plan wasn't possible, for any reason, the reclamation efforts would be suspended. All RSG members agreed it was essential to save the settlers; as arduous as the journey might be afterward, absent so many resources, they would have to focus on alternatives after the first jumps were completed. Still, as the military leaders understood, the arrival of additional basestars was a devastating reality; it would take at least two or three hours just to get the colonials on the ships and past the planet's atmosphere. Most encounters with Cylon war parties lasted minutes. In the period of a few hours, a significant number of basestars could converge, still ending not only hopes of a rescue, but options for human survival. Apollo recognized he was gambling a great deal on the premise this rescue mission was necessary and viable; Helo and Tigh implicitly understood the taxing pace and attention to detail were manifestations of the Commander's commitment to ensure they beat the odds.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Nine Weeks After Occupation**

Tom moved over to the thermostat on the Phygera, increasing the temperature. He recognized it was a use of precious tyrillium, but after so many days in the Cylon residences, Zarek felt it was impossible to get completely warm again. Nervously, Tom paced the office area, finally succumbing to the urge to take two shots of ambrosia. As he had time to reflect on the possibilities, Tom was anxious to find out how the rest of the leadership group had fared during his absence. He hadn't heard of any resistance activities, so he was assuming no attacks had taken place yet. Based on Tory's responses regarding Sam, he inferred the man was well on the mend. Reviewing the documents on his desk, Tom also concluded the Cylons were maintaining the status quo. The jumpiness in his stomach, however, signaled he needed to take some steps to secure activities during future absences; if Caprica pulled him out of commission again, someone had to sustain contact with the leadership group and represent the settlers' interests. Tom planned to ask Tory to take a message back: he wanted to bring Felix Gaeta into the inner decision circle.

Gaeta's behaviors over the past two months conviced Zarek he could be trusted. In the beginning, the man's dedication to Baltar made Tom uncomfortable; as he reflected on his own actions, however, Zarek didn't think he could judge the man for falling into the same dynamics he himself had entered with Gaius. Despite Felix's initial lack of backbone, the man had matured quickly in the new environment, taking risks Zarek hadn't expected. The man was a patriot, ultimately, and Tom admired him for that; he was confident Gaeta would be the best person to serve as his proxy. The other leaders would waver, wondering if the man could keep up the pretenses necessary. Tom had no doubts; he had seen the sacrifices Felix was willing to make.

Four weeks earlier, Tom arrived at the Cylon headquarters for a meeting with the cabinet. He was late, struggling through the snow to get back from The Cellar. Gaeta had been told Zarek was working in his office that morning, so when Tom arrived in wet clothes, it was immediately apparent he had been elsewhere. Before the President could offer an excuse, Felix understood the potential danger, and guided him into an empty room. He offered to run back to the ship and grab Tom fresh clothes, asking no questions. Re-dressed, 30 minutes later, Gaeta had then provided the excuse for the President's tardiness, pulling the attention to himself and absorbing the Cylons' ire. The woman, Three, slapped the man across the face for his "mistake," splitting Felix's lip; he never faltered and would accept no thanks from Zarek later, saying only he was glad to do something that might make a difference for the settlers. It was time to integrate Gaeta into the overall plans.

The perimeter alarm alerted Tom to Tory's presence outside, and he opened the hatch, startled anew by the frigid atmosphere outside and the icicles that broke off around the seals. Tory stepped up, clearly shivering; Zarek offered her a shot of ambrosia to jump-start her blood flowing again. She flipped it quickly, then removed the winter gear to adjust to the "real indoors," as she liked to call his quarters.

"Have a seat, Tory. Have you eaten? I can probably put something together…"

"I'm fine, Tom, thank you. I can't stay too long; several members of the Cylon cabinet have decided to visit the school tomorrow morning, so I won't be able to risk being too tired."

"I understand. It's…I'm glad to see you. I appreciate you making the trek in that bitter cold to bring me back into the loop." He smiled deeply, grateful to look into those rich brown eyes again.

Tory smiled in return, averting her eyes for a moment; he realized he was staring a little too intently, so he shifted his focus to the floor.

"Where would you like me to start, Mr. President?"

"Sam."

"He's made wonderful progress, Tom. His energy is back, and his frame has filled out again. He's chomping at the bit to—"

"To rescue Starbuck; I can imagine. And the Admiral—is he ready to proceed?"

"Yes. Since the events with Hera—"

"Hera? Who's Hera?"

Tory looked upon Tom, searching for the best place to begin. "The Agathons—Sharon and Karl—they had a daughter named Hera."

"Right…I remember the controversy. But I thought—"

"She didn't die. Roslin…Laura thought it was in the fleet's best interest to protect the child, and at the time, she didn't trust Sharon as a Cylon."

Tom watched the expressions flickering across the woman's face. This was clearly uncomfortable for her; she was involved in it, somehow…

"I didn't know all of it…I had…inferred a few things, but…"

"What happened, Tory, if Hera didn't die?"

"She…Laura asked me to arrange for an adoption. A woman in the fleet who just lost a child. I located Maya, and the President brought forth a little girl, approved the transfer, and made arrangements for Maya and the little girl named Isis."

"Our Isis—that's Hera? No wonder she's protected her in The Cellar…I always wondered why…"

"The night Sam went into cardiac arrest, Laura, Sharon, and Hera all apparently had the same dream—vision really—which led to the revelation of the girl's real identity."

"How did…what were the reactions to all of this information?" Tom was trying to picture Sharon, Laura, and Bill working through the implications of this deception, and he didn't see it turning out well. Unless…

"Did the Admiral know about it, about the…switch?"

"No. He was appalled; they haven't—haven't been the same since."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Tom, your sarcasm is misplaced…there's no one left unscathed in this."

"I'm sorry. You're right, Tory; I didn't mean it quite the way it came out. I just…Laura and Bill have been close. This had to come a quite a shock in their relationship."

"Yes, it has had a significant impact. I feel so sad for both of them, honestly; I don't think Roslin was right to take the action she did, but I know her, Tom—she wouldn't have risked so much if she wasn't certain, at the time, it was the best way to protect the fleet."

"From an infant?"

"Hera's much more than that, and you know it. The vision proves it."

"What vision…oh, the one from that night. Do you know what they 'saw'?"

"I've read the transcription Laura and Sharon managed to complete. It's hard to summarize."

"I'd like to—"

"No, Tom. The leadership group has already decided."

Tom stood up, visibly upset. "Decided what, exactly?"

"You…in your current position, it would be better if you knew as little as possible about this. Especially since…"

"Oh. That's it. Tory, I wish you'd waited to talk with me before saying something about what you saw that day; it isn't—"

Tory stood up as well, to look straight into his eyes. "Tom, I understand what you're doing; I know you wouldn't 'take up' with a Cylon woman unless you were gathering intel and trying to secure political cover. The others recognize that as well. But this information…the Cylons can't gain access to it. Even though I'm not sure what it all means, I know it's significant, and I'm confident the Cylon cabinet doesn't have this same information, the same awareness of what's to come."

"Which is…Never mind. Why are you so certain the vision's real, Tory?"

"How can you ask that, Tom, after you went to Kobol with Roslin, with the Admiral and Sharon? _The Scriptures of Pythia_ are valid, in whole or in part."

"But this vision isn't related to the text, Tory—"

"Frak you, Tom Zarek! You don't know anything, you weren't there, but you feel qualified to determine what it means or doesn't mean...you're sleeping with a Cylon, for frak's sake—I don't see how you can judge when you disappear and—"

"Tory, gods, slow down!" Tom stepped up to her and pulled her into his chest, willing her to calm down, let the anger subside. _She feels so good in my arms; I can't believe I upset her this much—_

He was reassured when he felt the woman's body relax into him, recognized her arms sliding around his chest in return. They remained that way for a few minutes, nothing but breathing penetrating the stillness in the room.

Finally, Tom stepped back slightly, moving his hands to Tory's cheeks as he tried to read the impenetrable darkness of her gaze. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you—about the vision, or about…about the Cylon. I'm not sure it was a good decision, frankly, but I'm in it now, and I still hope to find out what's happened to Kara Thrace. Caprica—well, she seemed like the best option we have for finding out more."

Tory nodded in reply, keeping his gaze with her own. "I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. I'm not certain why it upset me so much; I guess I'm just on edge and tired."

Zarek felt the pull of electricity building between them, wondering if he might be imagining it. It was too complicated right now to allow anything else to happen, even if it was real…He leaned forward slightly, kissing Tory's forehead.

"Then you should get back to your tent, rest up for tomorrow. You were kind to come, Tory; I don't know when I can take the chance to come see the others, but hopefully in another week or so, it will be easier to return to my routines without drawing Cylon attention."

"Aren't we—I thought you also wanted to talk about the medical liaison role too?"

"Gods, I did forget. Look, Caprica's gone for the next two or three days, meaning I should be available to talk during the day. If you can, discuss some ideas with the settlement leadership group, then come by so we can set up the parameters and present it to the cabinet. And I need you to do a favor for me, bring an idea back to the leadership."

"Sure—"

"Given the current environment and Caprica's whims, I need a proxy, someone who can take care of decisions if I'm absent and help pass intel along when I can't trek out to The Cellar. I want that person to be Felix Gaeta."

"Gaeta? Tom, they won't…"

Tom handed her a hand-written document. "Take this to them to read. It spells out my observations of the man over the two months of Occupation. When you can, bring back their questions, and let's see if we can make this work. I'm worried, Tory; if the resistance begins strikes while I'm in the Cylon residence, or the Cylons increase the religious constraints and I'm cut off from the leadership group, I won't be able to help, and I can't face…"

"I understand, Tom, truly. I'll try to help them reach a similar conclusion." She smiled, then reached for her coat. On impulse, Tom grabbed her quickly, hugging her again.

"Take care of yourself, Mr. President, and be careful. You chose the manipulative one to bring to your bed; keep Baltar's fate in mind as you proceed."

"We didn't discuss Gaius; any news on him?"

"I almost forgot—I guess they really did cut you off from everything over the past week, if you didn't hear this…Baltar overdosed on Lethe again."

"Frak. Frak!" Tom ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. They needed the man to keep creating other drugs to help the settlers.

"I take it he survived?"

"Yeah. No one's quite sure where he ended up, but one of the Threes commented her 'sister' Three on the Cylon Cabinet had taken Baltar under her care—whatever that means."

"Okay." Tom exhaled loudly. "I'll see what I can find out about our mad scientist too."

"Good night, Tom. It was…I'm glad I had a chance to talk to you."

"Same here, Tory. Be well."

The hydraulics whirred and hissed. She was gone. Tom poured his fifth shot of the day, hoping this didn't become a bad habit; ten minutes later, unable to sleep, he decided to hell with bad habits, and proceeded to drink the rest of the bottle until he passed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Glass clattered to the floor, shattering on impact. Tom jerked upright, trying to see in the dark of the room, realizing the electricity was out. Another impact shook the ship again; he could hear the sound of falling objects in the office beyond his bedroom. _What the frak is happening now? _Hope sparked for a moment; could it be the Galactica, back to rescue them? He pushed the thought away; they weren't that fortunate. Which meant a far less attractive alternative…the resistance strikes had begun.

Moments later, he heard the keypad and the front swing open, the wind rushing back towards his room. Suspecting it was Gaeta, Tom crawled forward, thankful the emergency power supply was running on the tyrillium tank.

"Gaeta?"

"Yes, sir. I wanted to get you immediately; there have been two large explosions. One appears to have disabled the main electrical grid; the other targeted the main Cylon place of worship."

"Frakkin' great. The lights won't work, though the heater and the main equipment are still juiced; let me grab some clothes, and we'll proceed to the Cylon cabinet."

"Shouldn't we inspect the damage first, Mr. President? There might be people hurt…"

"That will just make us look culpable and involved, Mr. Gaeta. No, we have to go talk with the Cylons, whether we want to or not."

"Yes, sir."

Fumbling around, Zarek managed to pull on a decent pair of pants and sweater. After a few miserable moments crawling on the floor, he located his boots. It didn't help matters his head was still swimming from the liquor ingested only a few hours earlier; in the dark, his head spinning, he struggled to maintain concentration.

Finally, standing up, Tom made his way past the living area into the outer office, feeling around for his coat, scarf, and gloves. Relieved to be clothed and walking, he called out to Gaeta. "Ready to go?"

"As much as I'll ever be, sir." They caught slight outlines of one another in the darkness as they made their way past the ship and towards the looming headquarters standing out against the moon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I hope you have an explanation for this, Mr. President." Caprica was circling the table, fuming.

"I don't have details…I wasn't part of this plan."

She stopped moving to stare at him. Tom met the stare and locked eyes, unblinking. No flinching possible now.

"Fine. But you are accountable for the actions of your people, Mr. Zarek. This is barbaric!"

"I…I'm terribly sorry this has happened. Was there…did Cylons…"

"Die? Is that the word you were afraid to say?" It was Cavil; his disgust was radiating across the table. "Two of our people were killed, yes. Our religious site was desecrated. Two months of significant labor—'down the tubes,' as your kind says—your people will be without electricity for at least ten to fourteen days now—in the bitter cold of winter."

Tom's gut dropped; _what the hell were they thinking, putting so many settlers in danger for this strike? Had Laura and the Admiral agreed to such a reckless plan?_

"We…I deeply regret the loss to the Cylon people. I will launch an investigation."

"You'll do damn well more than that, Mr. President; you'll execute the perpetrators!" Leoben was speaking now, his eyes ablaze with a desire for retribution.

"Humans don't execute without a legal process, Leoben."

"Oh, but they do, Tom Zarek, they do—two Cylons died without any 'legal process' tonight."

Zarek's chest heaved noticeably. He had dreaded this moment ever since he agreed to accept the charade of becoming President, and it was as excruciatingly miserable as he imagined.

"What do you want me to do, then—"

Three interjected. "You will make a statement, Mr. Zarek, first thing in the morning, condemning this atrocity. You will announce that the Cylons do not condone violent acts, and as a consequence for this violation of our agreement, we are rescinding certain privileges. Effective immediately, no human temples will be allowed. Anyone caught practicing their heretical faith will be summarily executed, on the spot. We will not provide any additional food rations through the winter; if more of your people die as a result, then so be it. Further terrorist actions will be met with matching force."

"I recognize your anger and outrage—all of you—but this is more than—"

"You think the punishment too harsh, Mr. President?" It was Caprica; something in her tone made Tom's blood curdle.

"I respect the cabinet's decisions. The reprehensible acts are probably those of a small group; these humans do not speak for the whole. The responses you intend to implement will place the burden on every settler, escalating tensions. I cannot undo the events of the past hour, but I can try to ensure there's a way to move forward, if you'll temper your reactions."

"He's right." It was Simon speaking. "While I suspect these atrocities are going to continue, we came to this planet with the idea of learning to live with humans, understand them. We must give them the 'benefit of the doubt,' at least for the first incident."

"Which would mean what?" Three was exasperated.

"Remove the human temples, outlaw the human religion. Let them deal with the cold for the next week or so as they await repairs to the power grids. But announce we'll imprison the heretics, rather than execute them, and don't refuse the food rations. I've studied the history of the Colonials, during my stays on the Old Worlds; nothing motivates them to rebellion more surely than starvation and disease."

"I agree." To Tom's surprise, it was Caprica.

"As do I," Doral submitted.

"It's decided, then—for the time being. Mr. President, you may return to your residence; Caprica will come in the early morning to prepare you for the open field, all-speakers announcement." Cavil stood up, signaling the meeting was over.

Tom stood as well, bowing slightly to acknowledge the plans. He wasn't sure what else might be said without setting sparks flying, so he opted for silence.

He and Gaeta said very little on their way back to the Phygera. As they approached the vessel, Tom turned to Felix. "Would you like to sleep here, on the couch? It's cold in the tents, and you've had a long night."

"Actually, I would be very grateful, Mr. President."

"Done then." Thirty minutes later, the two men collapsed, still clothed, both hoping tomorrow would not end up as disastrously as instinct dictated it would.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill felt odd tremors in the dirt walls as he was startled awake. They were brief, but worry struck his chest. He sat up, calling out to Sharon. "Did you feel that?"

"Yes, Sir. I don't know what it was…it felt like—"

"Like explosives?"

"Yeah. Exactly. We hadn't planned anything yet, though, so how…"

"Someone took matters into his or her own hands, Lieutenant."

"Which means that person has now taken part of the future out of our hands, Sir."

"I'm afraid so, Lieutenant—I'm afraid so." Bill lay there awake, knowing there was little to be done but wait and hope someone brought information to them quickly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Roslin heard the sounds and could see the flashes of light through her tent canvas. "Oh, gods, no," she exclaimed aloud, to no one. Without knowing the details, Laura was certain the resistance movement had started, and from an unknown corner. A part of her was glad something had finally happened, even though she recognized the terrible dangers facing them all now. A rogue action would probably lead to unintended consequences, and it robbed Sharon and Sam of their one best weapon in the plan to rescue Kara: surprise. The Cylons were sure to respond swiftly; increasing the security in the detention center was one likely result.

The "whonk, whonk" sounds near her tent interrupted thoughts and made Laura's blood run cold; suspecting the worst, she frantically threw on some warm clothes as the sounds stopped and the metal glinted in the crack of the tent flaps. Ten seconds later, two centurions pointed their weapons at her chest; she clenched her eyes closed, in reflex, silently praying to Athena for protection. One spoke: "come with us. You are to be brought to the detention center." Gulping in air, Laura moved gingerly forward. Apparently, it wasn't her day to die…though she was suddenly struck by the notion she might wish she had, depending on what greeted her in the days to come.

With a centurion marching along each side, Roslin walked the path towards the large complex at the far west end of the settlement. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, but faint light revealed other shapes moving in the same direction. She couldn't make out faces or recognize anyone's gait, but it was clear a number of settlers were being rounded up. For all their sakes, Laura hoped the rest of the leadership group remained free; the fascist rule was about to take hold. Doubting the gods listened to her pleas any longer, she prayed all the same: "Oh gods, hear our cry…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Eleven Weeks After Occupation**

Moaning, her hips hurting from the cold stone floor, Roslin clawed her way up the wall to pull herself to a sitting position. Breathing shallowly, head against the cement, she fought for some mental clarity. Leoben had beat her the first day, and Cavil a week later; neither asked any questions. Apparently, the physical injuries were just to make sure they had her attention. The broken left arm definitely accomplished that goal; it was impossible to forget where she was or who was in charge of what happened next. At least she was still receiving food and water; Laura wondered if the other prisoners were even that lucky.

Two days ago, Leoben had started administered some drug intravenously, and now she had trouble putting any thoughts together. She also realized, with a macabre smile, she was drooling from time to time; whatever the medication was, it really packed a wollup. Unfortunately, it did nothing to reduce pain.

The door opened. She squinted, in the constant overhead light, to see who entered. Leoben was standing over her, hands behind his back…_studying his handiwork_, she supposed.

"I want to start asking you some questions, Laura Roslin. Are you ready to answer them?"

Laura tried to move her mouth; it took three attempts to bring her lips successfully together. "Too…much..med…"

"Yes, I can see that. We'll lower the dosage, and I'll try back in a few hours. If you cooperate today, I'll allow the medic to set your arm."

He left as abruptly as he entered; Laura found herself sinking to the floor again, unconsciousness taking hold.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill sat dejectedly in the chair beside the large table, futilely trying to construct a remote detonator. His fingers were cold, and the stinging in his eyes did nothing to help his accuracy. His heart felt like a block of concrete inside his chest. Setting the tools down, he clasped his hands together, trying to still the tremors. In all of his years of command, nothing had prepared him for the stark fear gripping him now. He'd watched Lee and Kara be put in harm's way, wondering if they could be found alive; he'd condemned a man to capture by the Cylons in order to protect a military secret; he'd been shot point-blank in the chest by a Cylon he later reinstated as an officer. In all those situations, he was confident of the odds, knowing he and the people under his command were trained to handle the terrible consequences of war. But Laura Roslin was not under his command, she wasn't a soldier, and he wasn't confident of the odds.

To his shame, Bill found himself paralyzed by regrets. He understood the absurdity of the sensation; regret served no purpose. It sapped you of energy, played tricks with your mind, made you more vulnerable to the enemy. Nonetheless, he seemed unable to compartmentalize his emotions, force regret into its rightful corner in oblivion. He was constantly agitated, thinking about how he'd left things with Laura, what she must be thinking, alone and scared. Bill chastised himself for his cardinal mistake: he should have loved her less and trusted her more. There were reasons for the decision she'd made with Hera, and it probably had protected the child. It was ethically wrong, but they'd faced so many ambiguous choices since the end of the worlds; was this decision more grievous than the destruction of the Olympic Carrier? Was his decision to re-instate Sharon as an officer less questionable, simply because of the weight of his personal convictions? He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers firmly along the each side of the bridge of his nose. The headache pulsating in his forehead would not abate; holding back tears for hours at a time took its toll.

The sounds of people arriving upstairs grabbed his attention; he rested his hand on the firearm beside him, aware each day was another close escape from detection. Galen and Sam clattered down the steps, faces drawn and blanched from the cold.

"Admiral…" Galen greeted him.

"Tyrol, Anders—glad you were able to make it. Any word from Zarek?"

"The Cylon woman continues to drop by his office unannounced, so he's trapped aboard the Phygera, when he's not being called to the Cylon Headquarters. He's sending Gaeta."

"Good. Let's hope—"

"Did someone mention my name?" Felix made his way down to the table where the others had just gathered.

"Welcome, Gaeta."

"Great to see you, Sir. I feel better, just knowing…"

"Thank you. I'm not sure I've been of much assistance yet. What news do you bring?" Adama's nervous energy left little tolerance for pleasantries.

"I've got two important things." Felix's eyes lit up; he was clearly proud of his efforts. When Bill saw the documents pulled out, he understood why. "Here is a map to the location for the launch keys; and here's a map identifying the location of Kara's cell…and Roslin's."

The Admiral slapped Gaeta on the back. "You did it! I…we all really appreciate the risks you took to get this information for us."

"My pleasure, Sir, but Zarek deserves the credit for the map of the detention center. He's…the relationship with the Cylon is a difficult situation for him, and Tom—we all owe him a debt."

Felix wanted to say more, but had been cautioned by Zarek to reveal as little as possible. The Cylon woman was possessive and capricious; Tom had been forced to endure a number of unpleasant and compromising situations to prove he was worthy of her trust. Even Felix wasn't sure how Zarek finally obtained the map, but the soulless look in the man's eye suggested the price had been high. Maybe too high.

Something in Gaeta's face caused Bill to pause. There was so much suffering to go around… "We do owe him a debt. Let Tom know…we miss seeing him. Is he…Gaeta, is he alright?"

The pause before answering told Adama the truth. "Oh. Can we…is there anything we might do to—"

"I'm not sure, Sir. I think—it would do him a world of good to see some of you, even if she's there with him. He's isolated, constantly under watch, unable to say anything without filtering it. And Caprica—well, frankly, Sir, she's like a black hole—that Cylon just sucks the life energy out of everyone. Tom looks like somehow she's killing him. I can't explain it, I just know that's the sensation that comes over me when I talk with him anymore."

Sam placed a hand on Gaeta's shoulder, remembering how much Zarek had done for him when he was so ill. "I'll come by, Felix—that's a promise. And so will Tory. They were supposed to work on a medical support strategy for the colonials, but she's been afraid to…" Sam wasn't sure if he should explain the rest.

"Afraid she'll upset the Cylon, or worse, be associated with the resistance?" Gaeta could well imagine the concerns running through everyone's mind these days.

"Yeah." Sam admired the man's perceptiveness.

"Look, I know he's been talking with Caprica and the rest of the cabinet about the need for the medical liaison and support; he's laid the groundwork. If Tory's still willing to function in the role, I'm confident we can make that work, and it would mean so much to…" _Frak, I'm saying too much_.

Even though Tom hadn't admitted anything to Gaeta, the way he talked about her, the number of times he mentioned her—Felix was pretty sure Tom had fallen for Tory. It was part of the reason the situation with Caprica was so painful. The liaison role would ensure a regular schedule of contact, bolster Zarek's failing spirits.

The Admiral spoke up. "Consider it done. And please know the launch key information is invaluable to us as well, Gaeta—we can't go after them until we hear from Pegasus and Galactica to find out the schedule for the rescue operation, but we'll never move everyone safely off this rock without the keys."

Gaeta smiled, pleased to realize he was regaining the Admiral's trust. "I'm working on the jamming frequencies, Sir, as is Tom. The Three models control the communications networks, which makes the intel harder to obtain, but we think…if we can distract the Three on the cabinet when Caprica's making her next trip back to the orbiting basestar, I can download the data when the scramble grids drop for the transport coordinates to be transmitted. If I'm successful, we might have them in two weeks; that's her scheduled meeting."

Galen listened to the steps, realizing how much Tom and Felix both were putting on the line to help with one of the most difficult aspects of the plan. "Admiral, I want to suggest you consider giving both men commendations after this is all over; they're involved in a very intricate dance. I'm not sure I could keep up, myself."

Bill looked up at Tyrol, surprised by his declaration. _ I need to pay more attention to the sacrifices of the people around me. _"An excellent recommendation, Chief Tyrol." The Admiral stood up, gesturing for Gaeta to follow suit, then squeezed the man's hand in both of his own. "Damned glad to have you back in the 'CIC' of New Caprica. Please let Tom know his efforts are not in vain, and we are behind him, as we promised. It was a significant burden to accept, and he's served admirably in the role…I know Laura would be proud." The tears struck the back of Bill's eyes; he willed them away, but knew his voice still shook slightly with the energy of them.

"Please have Tory come by as soon as feasible."

"I'll bring her with me today, Gaeta—that's a pledge." Sam's voice was warm, full of emotion.

"When do you…it's best if I don't know the timing, exactly, but to be prepared…will the detention center operation happen in the next few days?" Felix was deeply concerned about the consequences, even if the rescue was successful, but he wasn't about to voice those thoughts at this late date.

"More likely in the next seven to ten days, assuming the Cylons don't increase security even further."

"As long as there are no additional terrorist strikes, no plans have been made for increases in centurion troops, at least from what I can discern. Are we…comfortable that…no other explosions are about to take place?"

"Roslin's capture struck close to home; the Cylons had that strategy right. Everyone's waiting for orders from Sam or Galen before taking other action." The Admiral's voice was steady, but his eyes still conveyed the pain of the loss.

"The Cylons wanted…originally they were going to execute settlers practicing our faith; I'm grateful that was avoided."

"The people are still reeling from the temples that were removed, and the mandatory attendance at all Cylon religious ceremonies, but I believe they recognize they've narrowly escaped blatant prosecution, for the time being. Please let Tom know we are deeply grateful for the concessions he managed to negotiate."

"I will, Sir. And I need to get back, before I'm missed, so we need to leave it here, unless there's anything else pressing you need me or Tom to address?"

"No, you've already done a great deal. We'll see you again soon, Gaeta."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The cat, Helo, was curled up against Kara's chest, purring contentedly. Kara was curled up in the chair, neither content nor upset; she was completely blank. Her foot cast propped up on the ottoman Leoben had brought to the "apartment" for her use, she tried, futilely, to switch her mind from the song wearing a long groove into her brain._ This bitter pill I swallow, is the silence that I keep; it poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep. _

She'd succumbed finally to the numbness, let her tongue be still, relinquished her claim to an independent identity. The day after Leoben violated her, he'd come back with a spring in his step, believing Kara had somehow turned herself over to him. When she refused his advances, he'd dropped a large marble sphere on her left foot, fracturing every bone along the top. Falling to the ground, she'd tried to crawl away and lock herself in the bathroom, but he grabbed her legs and forced her to sit next to him on the floor, facing him. He'd slapped her across the face every time she refused to call him by his special nickname, "Lee."

Forty blows later, her face swollen beyond recognition and her nose broken in two places, she'd finally relented. It hardly seemed to make a difference, in the end; after all, there was no more Lee Adama. He was a figment of memory, fragmented and splintered by all that had passed; in the haze of her concussion, Kara wondered if he was ever real at all. When the magic word had been spoken, Leoben gently picked her up, whispering how much he loved her as he personally carried her to the medical facility. She would have smiled, had her face been able to move; it was so much like home. Kara's mother had breathed similar phrases in her ear, after a beating requiring treatment, and she could recite them all, in rapid succession; her mind raced through them, over and over and over, as her body jangled about in Leoben's embrace along the path to the Cylon buildings. It might have been cold outside—her face burned, so it was hard to differentiate—but she seemed to remember her fingers and toes becoming icy in the wind. Inhaling air required a great deal of effort at that point, with her nose and lips engorged. She was longing to take a deep breath; it had been so long since she'd even been allowed outside. Images of soul-penetrating blue eyes flickered across her mind, as she drifted in and out of consciousness over the next three days, and only one word continued to hold any meaning when she was finally awake again: _Apollo_.

In the week after her second discharge from the Cylon medical facility, Kara was placed on significant pain medications, in addition to anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. Leoben would come by the "apartment" regularly, holding her hand and talking to her. The permanent haze of the narcotics made Kara more responsive to suggestions; she called the Cylon "Lee" as often as he wanted, and told him she loved him, so he would leave sooner. Her favorite part of the day—or days—was falling asleep with the purring of the cat on her chest, leading her back into a dreamless state.

Stirring at some point—it wasn't clear which day or what hour, given the clouds in her brain—Kara recognized it was dusk. The medications had worn off slightly, and she decided to try to stand and maneuver to the bathroom. Using crutches, ungainly and wobbly, Kara managed to reach the sink. With apprehension, she lifted her gaze slowly to the mirror in front of her, and an awful whimpering cry vibrated in her throat. Her face, even after nearly two weeks, was almost unrecognizable; she tried to fathom if it was just from the physical beating, or the soulless existence she had finally accepted as her fate. Every patch of skin was some strange shade of purple, yellow, or grey, and her eyes, bloodshot, made her pupils look dark and flat. Her nose had been taped, so she might have some hope of a normal profile, eventually, but a great deal of swelling remained. Her brain seemed to slosh about inside her skull as she tried to shake out the blurriness in her vision, to no avail.

Kara struggled to remember where she was, and how she got there; she even fought to pull out a glimmer of reason, trying to explain to herself why she was in this place and what Leoben wanted from her. No coherent lines of thought were able to form, however; the narcotics still held sway over her mental and physical processes. In the end, all she could piece together was that Kara Thrace had been in this "apartment" for as long as she could remember; the Cylon Leoben was now "Lee," and a man with blue eyes named Lee Adama didn't exist any more; and her fate, body and soul, belonged to the Cylon from here on out.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Eleven Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

"Lee…Lee! Hey, look at me…listen to my voice. It's Kat—you've had a nightmare—you're going to be okay. Kara's going to be okay. Look in my eyes, Apollo—come on now—breathe. That's good…that's good…"

Lee Adama was sitting up in his rack, rigid with terror, sweating and shaking. It was dark; he had no idea what time it was or for how long he'd been asleep. As the first layer of the dream finally receded from his mind a bit, he tried to concentrate, remember what had happened.

He felt Kat's small hands cupping his face, her ringlets brushing against his forehead.

"Gods, Kat…I'm so…it hurts...it hurts so frakkin' much. Please make the pain go away…please. Please." Lee was sobbing; he realized he had been crying for several minutes. Louanne wrapped her arms around him, letting his head fall to her shoulder, running her fingers gently through his hair.

"I know it hurts, Lee, I know. You're safe right now; it's okay to let it out."

Apollo clung to her frame, letting the warmth of her skin and the scent of her hair ground him. She was lightly rocking, holding him in such a way Lee could feel her strength, somehow feel less alone, less petrified. "Oh, Kat. I've lost her; I've lost Kara; she's slipped away again. I can't go on without her…so much pain…" his voice was hoarse, filled with a fear Kat couldn't name. She was worried; something had to get through to him, pull him off the ledge.

"Lee Apollo Adama…" Kat gripped his face, willing him to stare deep into her eyes. "Listen to me. Carefully. Kara Thrace is still alive—and so are you. Whatever you just experienced, it won't change what's real. You hear me? This is real—" she kissed him, long and sensuous, then pulled back. "Right now, in this room, in this bed, you're safe, and you're going to bring Kara back to safety too. The gods are protecting you, Lee; they'll protect her too."

Something clicked back in place; she could see his eyes warm again, recognize he was back into himself. Lee straightened up a bit. "Cou-could you get me some water?"

"Sure…" Kat walked over to the desk and poured a glass to bring back.

"Thanks, Louanne." Adama grabbed her hand, guiding her to sit close to him on the bed.

"Do you know what happened, Lee? It seemed like you had a nightmare, but I've never seen anyone react quite that way." Her voice was shaky; now that he was acting more like himself, she could admit how frightening it had been a few minutes earlier.

Lee reached over and stroked her face. "This has happened to me before. Twice. Tonight's the third time…" he stopped, lost in some painful memories.

"Same dream?"

"It's…it's not quite a dream, Kat. I'm not sure how to explain it…you're the first person I've ever even talked to about the experience."

Kat waited; Lee wasn't a very verbal person, but she was pretty sure he needed to get something out right now.

Lee sat still, breathing in a slow, measured rhythm. "The first time was aboard the Eos. I later found out…that it was around the time Kara started an emotional connection with my brother."

"And the second time?"

"I later found out it was around the time Kara started an emotional connection with Sam."

"Okay…that would freak me out too…but in this case?"

"I think Kara's…somehow, this time, she's relinquished her soul. It felt like—like she was shimmering out of existence." Lee's voice was hushed and pained, almost as though he were in a trance.

"Lee, let me ask you something. Is it possible—do you think she's had the same experiences with you, this nightmare vision thing?"

"I…I honestly haven't any idea. It seems doubtful."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Lee looked at Kat; her eyes were telling him she knew something important.

"Go on, Kat…"

"The night you were shot aboard Cloud Nine…you were with Dee, right?"

"Yes…and Kara was there with someone else."

"Right, but do you know why she went there?"

"No. We weren't exactly…she'd already focused on finding Sam…it was a painful time."

"Yeah. I remember too, Lee." He smiled briefly at Kat; she'd seemed so damned insufferable then.

"Well, the night before, Kara had a blood-curdling nightmare. You'd already left for Cloud Nine; Helo was the one who had to calm her down, get her to snap out of it."

"How do you know this, Kat? She was in the officer's quarters."

"Because Helo was really shaken up by it, and he was discussing it in the head the next morning with Hotdog. Starbuck wouldn't tell him anything, even though he knew it had something to do with you—she'd started screaming your name."

"Gods, Kat—are you sure? That doesn't sound like Kara—"

"And someone would believe it about you? It wouldn't sound like you either, if I hadn't witnessed it myself."

Lee was stunned. _Bound together_. Was it possible…could they be that sensitively wired together and still be so frakked up, trying to make connections with other people?

"I'm…I'm glad you told me, Kat. But if you're right, then I'm truly scared. She's in terrible danger; I'm losing her for good."

"No. I think that's the point—it's your instincts, Lee. They're kicking in, telling you there's time, but only if you act now. Don't you think, if you'd reached out to her those other two times, the outcome might have been different? You have to break the cycle; this is your body's way of reminding you when it's possible to make it happen."

"But we're months away from bringing this together, Kat; she's obviously going through something right now!"

"Look. I know you've been pushing all of us, like you've got an internal time table of when things are meant to happen. I don't think we're off-base; we're just starting to skate on the edge. So keep to the time table, Lee; we'll make it. It's your destiny to save her; you see that, right? You won't fail. We're all here to make certain you won't fail."

"How did you…why are you so understanding about all of this? Most women would be—"

"Jealous? Ticked off? Nah, Apollo. I'm not looking to 'own' anyone, and I knew the score with you and Thrace from the start. I'm enjoying our time—it's part of the plan, I guess. I don't want more; I couldn't handle more. We're fine—trust me—I'll be here to support you, get you to the finish line."

"Louanne Katraine, I don't know what to say…how to thank you."

"You already have. Now let's get some sleep, okay? There's a lot to do tomorrow."

Lee sighed, wrapping his arms around Kat and holding her tightly in his arms. He might not love her, but he was going to genuinely care about her for a long time. She was the balm his soul had needed so badly, and he could feel—despite the anxieties—he was finding his center again, with her help.

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	8. Ch 8: The Meaning of Fate

Chapter 8: Serendipity

**A/N:** I regret the delay in posting the latest chapter; RL really kicked me in the teeth, and it took a little while to recover. Many thanks for your commitment to the story! Also, a big thanks to Uberscribbler for the beta! Nicole

**Chapter 8: The Meaning of Fate**

"…_They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast." The Eagles, Hotel California_

"_This time, this place...misused, mistakes. Too long, too late; who was I to make you wait? Just one chance, just one breath, just in case there's just one left…" Nickelback, Far Away_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Thirteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

"Phwomp. Phwomp. Phwomp-Phwomp." Muscles straining, bag swinging, feet springing slightly. It had been thirty minutes; Lee thought he'd be wearing out by now, the exertions finally dissipating some of the uneasiness that had plagued him all day. Instead, so far, it had only given him a throbbing headache. The mantra stomping through his head incessantly wasn't helping: "_Eos Actual. Attack imminent. Weapons armed. Emitting. Emitting." _

_Damn. Damn._ Lee stopped swinging, holding the gloves against the bag to stop the movement, leaning his forehead into the leather for a moment. _You've got to shake this off, Lee. Eos was a long time ago…_

_But it still hurt like hell. _

Apollo walked over to the com, and radioed the CAG's office.

"Lieutenant Catraine here."

"Yes, Lieutenant—Commander Adama."

"Commander, Sir. How can I—"

"I need to have a conversation. With Luanne. When could you get away?"

"Ten minutes. Your quarters?"

"Yes, but…it's not for that—yet. I need to…I want to talk about something. About Eos."

"Understood…Apollo. Be there soon."

Lee hung up the com, his mind racing. It wasn't clear if this was a good idea—he'd kept the information locked up inside for years. Even his father—even Kara—only knew pieces of the whole. Could Kat be the right person to tell now? What did he hope to gain by speaking of any of it in the present?

Shaking off the anxiety for a moment, Lee walked briskly to his quarters, grabbing a shower before Kat arrived.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Luanne took Lee's hand and guided him to sit on the floor, directly across from her, each of them leaning against a couch frame for support. She poured two mugs of coffee from the table, and handed him one. Easing her legs out in front, she shoved her boots off and crossed her ankles, settling into a position for a long talk. Lee followed her lead; he was wearing his military sweats, and it felt good to assume a casual stance, act as though this was a personal living room, instead of the quarters of a commanding officer in the midst of a prolonged war.

"So, Sun God, what's on your mind? I'm thinkin' you had a story you wanted to tell." She gave him a small smile.

"Yeah. I do. I think."

"Hey, Lee—it's me—Louanne. You don't have to say any more or any less than what you're compelled to share. It won't go any further than here."

Lee looked in her eyes, holding the gaze, studying the warmth of brown mixed with flecks of green. He inhaled, deep and full, then exhaled, a slight whistle vibrating across his lips.

"I've never told anyone, Kat. Not all of it. I never thought I would, truthfully. The oaths I swore, the military secrecy, the…costs. It was easier to…to just keep it in."

"Then, maybe. But now, Lee—the whole scheme of things is different. You're different too. No matter how much we try, sometimes we can't get it out of our system until we—"

"Talk?"

"Yeah. Sucks, huh." She laughed; he giggled too. It was a way of releasing a little of the nervousness.

_The first words are the hardest_…Lee gulped. His instincts were pushing him to let the phrases tumble out, finally dissipate some of the power of the secrets.

_**Sit Rep (past): Battlestar Eos, five months into assignment; 70 light-years from Caprica**_

"Incoming! Incoming! Tigereye, there's a rogue on your six. Lickety-Split, get in there! Get in there!" Apollo tensed reflexively, watching the viper skate, trying to shake the rogue. The other viper managed to take aim, and the rogue ship exploded; shrapnel struck Tigereye's left engine, and she started flipping. "Tigereye, pull up on the throttle, check the gimbals, spot the battlestar on your port. Focus! Focus!"

"Yes, Sir…"

After several tense moments, she managed to straighten out. "Good…good. Now get back to the Barn, Tigereye."

Two other Aias fighters appeared. "Motherfrakkers! Where do they keep getting these ships from?" Lee gunned thrusters to position in front of the next rogues. "Lickety—on my mark!"

Spin, dive, fire. Spin, dive, fire. At last, explosions, satisfying in the brilliance of light.

Then, the vacuum of space. Silent, still, as it was meant to be.

"Blue Squadron—sit rep."

"All accounted for, Sir. Tigereye, Rumble, Snapper—birds damaged. No major injuries."

"Understood. Let's go home. Tell _all_ the pilots to assemble in the ready room in 30."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In full uniform, Lee stood at the podium, staring at the fifty-six faces before him. He was pissed off; three weeks of practice, one week of combat, and these pilots were still missing key elements of the maneuvers he'd laid out. Four were in Life Station, serious wounds keeping them out of the flight rotation for at least three additional weeks. At that rate, they'd be routed in under three months; there were at least seven left to the mission.

"We're going to review the flight logs. You're going to tell me what you missed. Then you're going to analyze the attack approaches the Aias rogue ships have been using, and identify the weaknesses, areas for opportunity. And finally, we're going to go out there and practice the counter-strategies, incorporating the moves I've taught. There will be no rest—for anyone—until I'm satisfied.

"We've lost use of six birds and four pilots, at least for the next several weeks. The rate is unacceptable. No one—no one—should think there's any grace period here. They mean to take us out by any method necessary to achieve their goal—capture of the Eos. And they'll keep coming. There are other enemies besides the Cylons—out here, first-hand, right now, in front. You're actually the lucky few who'll have combat experience under your belts, and if you demonstrate you are fit to wear that pilot's uniform, then you'll make your mark, name your next berth. But first, you have to succeed. No ships lost, no soldiers sacrificed. Are we clear?"

The individuals were quiet; no breathing, no shifting, no scribbling of pens.

"Are-we-clear?"

"Yes, Sir!" Finally, a unison response.

"Let's get started."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Sit Rep (past): Battlestar Eos, nine months into assignment; 70 light-years from Caprica**_

Lee's boots echoed against the metal deck. He walked in measured steps, from one figure to the next, counting. _Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one._ Lieutenant "Racer" Arden. _Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one._ Lieutenant "Lickety-Split" Forester. _Seven, six… _someone clearing his throat interrupted Lee's solemn trance.

"Captain Adama."

Lee stopped moving, looking up. He saw Commander Thornton standing at the far edge of the hanger.

"You did everything you could. Given the regularity of the attacks, the loss of life has been…your leadership, your tactics, they've saved many lives, Captain. You have to focus on that."

"Yes, Sir."

"Captain—please step over here."

With still-measured steps, Lee made his way over to his Commander's position.

"Let's go to my quarters. I have something to give to you."

Apollo followed, barely registering the people in the corridors, the route taken to reach Thornton's residence. He hoped the meeting would be brief; he didn't need counseling or platitudes or "buck-up" admonishments. Lee needed to grieve, to acknowledge there were people dead—killed on his watch. Under his command. Ten pilots in five months…he swallowed hard, trying not to focus on each person's face before him, pushing out the sound of the voices and the laughs belonging to the individuals who would never see their families or friends again.

Suddenly, he was aware they had arrived at Thornton's hatch. Stepping inside, Lee stood near the table, at a loss somehow to remember what to do next.

"Sit, son. Take the couch."

Nodding, Lee moved a few inches and sat on the edge of the seating, hands gripped together along his knees.

The Commander brought over a liquor Lee didn't recognize, and two cigars. He handed a glass and a cigar over, with a lighter, then sat and leaned back into the recesses of the other couch.

Lee swallowed the contents quickly, hoping the alcohol would numb his feelings a bit, if nothing else. It was a little sweet, but burned a quick path into his stomach. "Wow," he said, coughing slightly, "that's got a kick."

"Yeah, it does. I save it for the really bad days; I've had this bottle for three years, so there haven't been too many—until this mission."

Lee eyed the man closely. "So it's been…."

"Tough for me too? Yes, Captain. Indeed it has."

"I know casualties are a part of war, Sir. It's just…"

"We're not 'at war,' technically?"

"Something like that. I'm not sure what to even write to the families, how to explain…"

"That's why I thought we should talk for a bit. I've been through the notification process a couple of times."

"Well, respectfully, Sir, the last one didn't work out very well." It sounded bitter; Apollo didn't mean to insult his commanding officer, but the fact was, the Aias Organization had been hot on their tails because of a loss of life with no solid reason to back it up, no plausible answer to the question "why."

"I learned from my mistakes, Captain. As will you. Here's a draft—see what you think."

Apollo read it over, nodding in agreement. "Thank you, Sir. It…this really will be of help.

"How do you think they're doing it, Commander—getting the additional ships and pilots? They continue to out-number us, and their fire-power is almost military-grade."

"I've been puzzling through that, as have the brass back on Caprica. No good theories yet. We're trying to track down any ship-building orders—there are only so many places in the colonies where the machines can be constructed and armed. They have a good hiding space in this sector, too; somehow, the frigates with reinforcements are making the jumps undetected, and we still can't locate Aias' base of operations out here."

"How close are we to…when will the testing be finished, if you don't mind my asking?"

"That's the other thing I wanted to bring you up to speed on. The first significant test is tomorrow. Do you have the plan ready for the prepared defense strategy and exit?"

"Yes, Sir. The squadrons have practiced regularly for the event. We're good to go."

"Glad to hear it. If the test goes well, I expect we'll be out here another four months. There's a final run-through, and then we can head back to civilization."

"Four…months…" Lee had been hoping it would only take another two. He was getting so frakkin' tired. The renegade assaults were happening nearly every day; they had been on constant alert for nearly 22 weeks.

"It probably isn't what you were hoping for, but the Admiral Board is adamant. Which brings me to the third thing I wanted to talk about, Captain."

Lee caught Thornton's face, the worry racing through facial muscles. "Go ahead."

"Apollo—Lee—your pilot group is holding up well. The practice runs, the pep talks, the one-on-one time—it's amazing how strong the morale is within the team."

"Thank you, Sir."

"The thing is, it's taking a great deal out of you. I can see it—the dark circles under the eyes, the twitch in your cheek, the obsessive exercise. I know there's no one to talk to, confide in—"

"I don't need that, Commander. I'm self-sufficient—I always have been. I'm not a talker."

"That may be, Captain, but there's a difference between self-sufficiency and trying to be perfect. The quote about 'no man is an island' is repeated for a reason."

"I know I'm not perfect, Commander. I think about my mistakes every day."

Thornton put his hand on Apollo's shoulder. "That's exactly my point. You beat yourself up for not being perfect. You expect to have somehow anticipated everything, recognized the enemy's next moves before they do. Then your conscience hammers your soul when problems arise—which they inevitably will. So you need to know how to shut down that over-active conscience; evaluate, decide, act, accept the consequences, and press forward. There's no way to predict certain problems, only ways to respond and keep moving. And you need to realize it's okay to confide in select officers, on occasion, as long as you aren't ceding decisions to any other person."

"I don't…"

"Look, it doesn't have to be me. I'd suggest the ship's doctor—Breslin. He's the best there is—the 'bartender' for the Eos. Doc Breslin is required by oath to keep things confidential, and he's been around long enough to offer a good tip or two. But mainly, he listens.

"You've done an excellent job out here, Adama. Problem is, you don't see it. The stakes are high, the costs have been high, and you've been the military leader we all knew you could be, would be. The issue now—we cannot allow the next casualty to be you. Lee, you've got to get more rest, exercise a little less intensely—at least not in the middle of the night—and find some ways to relax, even if the times are brief.

"I want you to head to Life Station now, and pick up the sleep aid Doc's prepared. Set up some time to talk with the man. And you might want to find some quiet time to respond to this."

Thornton handed an envelope to Lee. He looked at the handwriting; it wasn't familiar at all. Then he realized the sender's name was in the upper left corner: "K. Thrace—Academy Flight School."

"The transport came? I didn't…how did I miss…"

"You were on that hanger deck at the time, where I found you. It was a quick turnaround. Now see the doc, hit the shower, and get some rack time. That's an order!"

"Sir, yes, Sir. Thank you Sir."

"You're welcome. Hold your head high, Captain—you've accomplished a great deal."

Lee walked out of the door, stuffing the letter inside his uniform pocket, and took the shortest route to Life Station.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alone in his rack, right after he swallowed the sleeping meds, Lee opened the letter, dated two months ago. It was short, humorous, straightforward, and a needed antidote for his pensive mood. Kara explained she'd been asked, after graduating with the top scores in flight training (beating Lee's record, she pointed out), to stay on and help train the overflow classes coming up. She was an "adjunct instructor," and Kara found she really enjoyed working with the new academy graduates.

Starbuck also mentioned Zak; he'd contacted her for help with some of his course work and she was glad to get to know Lee's brother a little better. Kara was currently teaching him the Starbuck approach to aerospace engineering problems. "Charming grin and loves to play pranks" was how she described Zak—pretty on the mark, Lee decided.

Recognizing Kara would be unlikely to wax sentimental in a letter, Lee still found comfort in the fact she wrote him and signed off with "miss you." It was enough. Lee fell asleep with the paper resting on his chest, under his hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next shift, Commander Thornton brought Lee through the different sections of the battlestar, explaining where the e-bomb's various components were housed. The cooling laser and energy source were encased in the engine section, with conduits running to special apertures hidden between the conventional main cannons on both sides of the ship. The primary controls had been installed in the CIC, concealed in a compartment beneath the main console table; Thornton cleared the room before revealing the location to Lee.

Apollo marveled at the ingenuity; the Commander pressed three spots simultaneously with his right hand, on the side of the console next to the up-lighting switch. A small panel slid out, noiselessly. Without awareness of the precise spot and touch points, the controls would be undetectable. On the panel itself, three buttons were color-coded. A unique sequence was associated with each step in e-bomb activation: laser initiation, energy output, and emergency abort. Thornton reviewed the patterns with Lee; he thought one other person, in addition to himself and the XO, should understand how to make the weapon "hot" and how to disarm it.

"How long is each activation step?" Lee was trying to gauge timing for defense maneuvers, including combat landings, prior to jump.

"Laser process takes four minutes; energy pulse, another three. Once the energy levels are at critical load, there's a 40-second window before the pulse wipes out all electrical systems in the 1,000 square-mile radius. We've managed to narrow it down by 600 square-miles from the original test."

"How many basestars do we estimate could be taken down this way, simultaneously?"

"Two—maybe three. It depends on the distance apart and other radiowave interference."

"And the centurions—"

"Deactivated. Pulse should create immediate immobility."

"When do you plan to spin up the FTL drive in the countdown, assuming normal power supplies are available prior to the event?"

"At T-minus six minutes."

"And as we discussed, the vipers need to be landing in the hangers at T-minus 90 seconds."

"Yes, Captain. I understand the maneuvers you've been running are timed to accommodate that?"

"Correct, Sir. The vipers should be able to hold off any attacks and put skids down at T-minus two minutes, knowing the battlestar can withstand the firing power of the Aias ships for the remaining time."

"You've explained to the pilots they'll have to maneuver using the 'no fly zone' coordinates supplied to the nav system? I realize they don't know any specifics about the weapon, but the energy output would—"

"Yes. They understand the viper would be immediately destroyed and would reveal information about the weapon to the enemy."

"They'll have to take out any rogue ships near the engine area, without drawing attention by clustering—"

"The pilots are ready."

"As are the scientists and military specialists, so they tell me." Thornton smiled briefly. "Tell your team, skids up at 1100 hours."

"Will do, Sir. Thank you for the 'tour.' "

"Stay sharp, Captain." Lee acknowledged the last comment with a salute, then stepped out of the CIC, as the Commander gestured the others to re-assume positions and preparation tasks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two squadrons set up initial positions. Realizing Aias sensors were probably tracking movements, Commander Thornton and Lee had decided two squadrons would not draw undue interest. With any luck, the test might be completed without any interruptions of attack.

"Okay, Red and Blue teams—CLAY maneuvers commencing." It was the code signal chosen for the clock countdown.

Through the reinforced secured channel, Lee could hear the commands issued in the CIC. The laser, in the non-visible spectrum, targeted the first basestar replica. There were three altogether; each had been carefully equipped with estimated basestar electrical wiring and power, as well as working engines and different levels of fuel. The military wanted to duplicate actual expected conditions, to the extent possible. There were even raider replicas—two—so the science team could measure the effects on smaller objects. Simulating centurion presence, small equipment boxes were placed in strategic areas throughout each replica, complete with a motherboard, battery power equal to a functioning robot, and a metallic shell to measure the impact of conductivity in relation to the microwave pulse. Protected sensors would relay data throughout the experiment.

"T-minus seven minutes and counting." The XO was monitoring progress, relayed to Adama in the cockpit.

"T-minus six minutes…spinning up FTL drive."

The Red squadron was positioned around the port and fore sides of the battlestar, with six and four vipers per side, respectively. Blue squadron covered the starboard and aft sections.

A sound jarred Lee, causing him to wince. Klaxons were sounding in the CIC.

"Dradis shows ten…no, fourt…twenty…twenty rogue ships approaching."

"Acknowledged, Eos Actual. Beginning defense approaches." Lee swung into view for Red squadron, signaling firing should commence. As the vipers moved slightly away from the battlestar, he flipped and moved with the Blue squadron, before sliding into coordinates near the laser and energy apertures. "Yellow team…launch tubes now."

The rogue fighters fanned out and began firing. One swooped through the laser, unwittingly, and Apollo could hear the gasps and cursing of the military pilots as the damage was immediately visible; the fighter twisted about helplessly, before crashing into one of the raider replicas. "T-minus five minutes and counting." _One more minute before the energy pulse ups the ante_, Lee thought.

Vipers were following rogue ships and firing; in sixty seconds, eight rogue fighters had been destroyed. The Yellow squadron was out and taking up secondary coverage, forming the inner defense tier as the other two teams focused on eliminating the remaining rogues. "T-minus four minutes…dradis shows more incoming. Six…six additional."

"Copy, Eos Actual. Teams—initiate lambda strategy, on my mark. Mark!" The blackness of space began to disappear against the bursts of weapons fire and explosions. A cacophony streamed through Lee's headset as pilots took out enemy ships, suffered damage, and ejected. Only one recovery raptor had been dispatched to pick up individuals; all viper jocks understood the risk of being left behind in this fight, given the hard deadline of the jump.

The Captain counted two for ejection rescue, and hoped the raptor would reach both in time. He tried to see how many vipers were moving in for final attacks, but it was difficult to sort out what was taking place. Finally, he recognized six vipers using one of Apollo's team maneuvers, and spotted the rogue fighters about to be destroyed. Suddenly, he heard Bounce on the com; "too close to no-fly, too clo—"

A rapid light burst appeared on the starboard side of Apollo's viper. Bounce's ship was gone—no shrapnel, no floating parts left. A rogue ship following Bounce also crossed into the pulse and was decimated. Apollo noted the other rogues pulling back, beginning a retreat.

"T-minus two minutes…"

"Recovery raptor—status," Lee barked into the helmet headset.

"Two personnel recovered, Sir."

"Combat landings, all teams—break now!"

Twenty-two vipers could be seen heading for the landing bays. Bounce, Giant, Twitch, Thorn, Bottle and JuJu had been killed; Luckypenny and Doubleshot made it into the raptor.

With a wrenching jolt, Apollo spotted two additional rogue fighters moving in to target the engines.

"Eos Actual to Apollo. T-minus 75 seconds. Break off and land. Break! Break!"

Adama assessed the situation before him. It was apparent the fighters would be able to hit the engines with a direct weapons fire before the jump was completed.

"Apollo to Eos Actual…must move in to take out threat. Attack imminent."

"Apollo—weapon armed. Emitting. Emitting. Godsdamnit—"

"Firing—" Apollo hit the first ship, taking it out; the other burned emergency thrusters to dive into the battlestar. Lee repositioned, then aimed at the suicide fighter; the ship exploded as its weapon was about to discharge, causing significant debris to strike the Eos hull. "T-minus 20-seconds to jump."

Sizing up the distance to the landing bay, Lee realized it was futile. He flooded his own thrusters, hoping against the odds somehow he'd clear the electromagnetic pulse radius. Apollo could see the battlestar shimmer into nothingness as he heard the words "Jump!" in his headset. He tried to brace himself for the unthinkable experience coming in less than ten seconds, picturing the grotesque image of the burned dead scientist in his mind's eye.

A blinding light, similar to the strength of a nuclear explosion, caused him to raise his arms across his visor on reflex; he felt the viper shudder and a propelling force somehow "pushed" his ship in a certain direction. The movement seemed instantaneous and incredibly fast. He was rolling around, with no way to gain a sense of position relative to anything in nearby space. The ship's controls dropped out, as did Lee's helmet light and life support; the electromagnetic pulse had struck his viper. His eyes registered nothing but blackness as he quickly slipped into unconsciousness, fighting for breath even as his brain refused to function.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An intermediately-sized transport shimmered into position right next to Adama's ship. A large magnetic coupler extended from an open bay door, locked onto the viper hull, and pulled the craft through the opening. As soon as the hatches sealed, three figures in full flight suits and helmets moved quickly to pry open the canopy, then pull out Apollo's limp body. The figures rushed to an inner chamber, where an emergency medical crew worked to keep Lee's blood from bubbling in response to the pressure differentials as they fought to administer life support and get oxygen back into his brain. Five tense minutes later, monitors registered Apollo's vital signs.

In another four minutes, as the rogue transport jumped to return to the primary Aias location, the emergency crew removed Lee's flight suit, administered medications, and placed him in a hyperbaric chamber. For the next three hours, Lee floated in and out of consciousness, unaware of his surroundings or his condition, unable to speak or form coherent thoughts. In the fourth hour, he remained awake long enough to remember what happened. Although panicked at first to be essentially locked in the hyperbaric chamber, Apollo forced fears into the background, and peered through the top and side portals, trying to assess the surroundings.

He detected no one in the immediate area; the room was dimly lit. He could see life monitors in his peripheral vision, but wasn't able to make out any readings. Scanning his body, Lee noted someone had dressed him in lightweight cotton, top and bottoms. Medications were being infused into his veins, and he didn't detect any broken bones or a concussion, though all of his joints were sore—probably from the force of whatever had over-rotated his ship and the depressurization his body obviously endured. His skin itched around his face and shoulders, another confirmation of the decompression sickness.

Lee realized he was extremely hungry, and wished he could sit up straight; once he tried to push up on his elbows, though, Apollo quickly understood he was still weak. Sighing as he laid back again, he was thankful his mental functions, at first blush, appeared normal; there was no way to know how long he had been without oxygen. There was also no way to determine how long he'd been in the hyperbaric chamber on this ship. Lee was fairly certain he was on an Aias rogue vessel, and he wondered when someone would come to begin interrogating him. It wasn't likely Apollo's life had been saved in a fit of compassion; he was being rehabilitated to serve a purpose. When they finally accepted, in the future, Apollo wasn't going to talk about the weapon…_then_ _I've got a 50/50 chance at that point. After they realize I'm the son of William Adama, I could be used for a different purpose—as an object for negotiation…or to send a dire message. _All three paths seemed equally bleak.

Lee's thoughts then turned to evaluate the possibility of rescue. Depending on what happened during the e-bomb test—that blinding explosion was not an expected result—the Eos would send patrols to continue the search for the Aias base. If they managed to locate the base, the military would attempt to find Apollo; however, given the odds—the Eos crew had been conducting expeditions trying to find the Aias main contingent for five months—Lee could not place all of his hopes on rescue. He might have to figure out his own escape.

To his surprise, his analysis was interrupted by the sound of static, and then a voice: "Good to see you're alert, Captain Adama." Apollo looked up to see a dark-skinned man through the top portal.

"I'm Captain Resurgere. Thomas Resurgere. I'm in charge of the Aias reclamation mission."

"I guess you gathered my name from the viper…"

"Yes. You don't realize how fortunate you are, Adama. I imagine your commanding officer gave you up for dead, if he saw what happened before he jumped."

Lee stared upward into the man's eyes; this was a very uncomfortable way to have a conversation where he needed his wits about him.

"First, thank you for pulling me out of the viper and providing medical treatment. Second, I'd prefer to talk when we're both at eye-level."

"Of course. Looking at the life monitor readings, I believe there's been sufficient recovery to move you from the hyperbaric chamber to a regular bed in sick bay. I know you must still feel weak and sore; the joint aches can take some time to subside. Is your vision normal—any problems with double-vision, blind spots?"

"No—luckily, no. I—how long was I…"

"You've been in the chamber for the past four hours—between the oxygen deprivation and the flight suit decompression, it was a fairly serious case. Happily, for you, your ship was "pushed" by the force of the explosion, and you were at the far edge of the electromagnetic wave; all of the electrical and power components were destroyed, of course, but you suffered no tissue damage from the emitted microwaves.

"We'll still need to begin a series of MRI scans, in the next few days, to check for any bone deterioration. Dysbaric osteonecrosis, due to nitrogen embolism, might occur—a dangerous complication for a viper pilot."

Lee nodded, closing his eyes; his aching joint muscles indicated he certainly ran the risk.

"I'm going to leave you now, let the medics work on getting you into a regular room. Sleep is the best treatment; we'll talk tomorrow about the results of the e-bomb test."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twelve hours later, more rested but shaky, Lee was able to stand up and walk, at least for short durations. After another 24 hours in the room, Captain Resurgere came to see him.

"You're up and about, I see."

"Yes. I'm mobile again." Lee didn't smile; no matter how polite things started out, he had the uneasy feeling he was in for a tough experience with this Captain.

"Well, let's talk for a few minutes, then." Resurgere sat on the only chair in the room; Lee walked outside the door to find and pull in a second seat. He wasn't having this conversation propped up in a bed.

"I'm sure you're curious as to the results of the little 'experiment?' " Lee remained perfectly still and silent.

"It was quite a sight. One of my fighters had a protected camera; you can watch it now." The man handed Lee a portable digital viewer. He took in the observable facts from the footage.

There was naturally no sound, but the camera captured the laser damage affecting the first Aias fighter, as well as Bounce's death when he entered the energy stream. Apollo focused on every viper destroyed; he saw the two pilots eject, and tensed his cheeks with each additional pilot killed in front of his eyes. The last two rogue ships came into view onscreen; it was uncomfortable to watch himself this way, as though he were a god peering down on "Captain Apollo's attack approach." While Lee was shooting at the Aias ships, visible lights began winking out on the replicas, nearly simultaneously. One basestar replica, now drifting in space, hit the next one.

Then, without warning, an intense light emanated from the third replica, filling the small viewer screen. As it subsided, Apollo's viper began its rapid trajectory away from the blast; the loss of power within his ship could be seen as the Eos finished the jump. Around the time Lee assumed he must have lost consciousness, two additional explosions followed, split-seconds apart; these were the other basestar replicas. From the lower right corner of the screen, a rogue fighter and a rogue transport merged into view, and he watched his ship being pulled inside the transport.

"Quite a fireworks display, don't you think?" The Captain's voice was dark and sarcastic. "I lost seventeen ships to your eight; I know you were thinking about the pilots you lost to death, Adama, but realize I'm just as incensed."

"Yes." Lee didn't think it was prudent to say more. A terrorist group was illegally firing upon the Colonial military, in an attempt to acquire top secret technology belonging to the Colonial government; Apollo didn't give a damn about Resurgere's losses.

"I want you to tell me what you know about this weapon, Captain Adama. It is clearly very powerful and also too dangerous to be used. It seems unlikely the explosions were an expected outcome of this e-bomb test; it was developed to bring about a crippling pulse _without_ the collateral damage."

"I was charged with protecting the Eos. I don't have information regarding the weapon you've mentioned."

"You're lying, Adama. All but one of your ships managed to avoid certain areas within the test zone; they knew what to do and ensured key spots along the battlestar were protected. I also watched your eyes when you saw the explosions—you were surprised."

"I don't have information regarding a weapon."

"Captain, I know you're in the military. You realize I'm in a terrorist organization, right? That means you're taught how to withstand torture; I'm schooled in the arts of delivering torture. I'd rather not waste the investment we made in saving your life…be forced to tear it down again."

Lee stared without blinking, knowing he was about to be subjected to fierce interrogations. He said nothing. Silence was one of the few weapons he'd have at his disposal in the time ahead. For unknown reasons, Resurgere stood up and moved towards the door. "I'll give you another day to rest and think things over, Adama. I know what your military training taught you, but it's quite a different thing to face it head-on, especially so new in command. We've been wearing you and your team down, day-by-day, for months. I'm offering you a way to end that bloodshed, give yourself a chance to get back to civilization and decide if you want to face these risks for the rest of your life. Choose carefully."

The medical room door swung quietly shut. Lee moved over to the bed, gratefully lying down; he was fully exhausted from the encounter and wondered if anything existed behind the soulless eyes of his captor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Sit Rep (past): Aias primary base, class-nine transport, ten months into assignment; location unknown, estimated to be 70 light-years from Caprica**_

The metal floor was cold; Lee knew they kept the air temperature deliberately at 55 degrees Fahrenheit so he would always be uncomfortable. Some days, his wounds burned to the touch, though, and the cold was actually a small respite; at present, the open wounds on his back were numbed a bit by the coolness beneath him. He moaned, wishing like hell he had more strength left; they hadn't been feeding him much over the past two weeks, hoping to weaken him further. It was the sleep deprivation, however, that caused the most concern; he couldn't be certain what was dream and what was hallucination, though the physical pain usually helped in sorting it out. Lee tried not to think about anything related to the military or to people he cared about; he was terrified something would slip out that could be used against him or against the Eos. When he did sleep, he tied a rag around his mouth as often as he could manage, to remind his body not to cry out anything when he was unconscious.

Nearly every day, Lee faced his inquisitor, Captain Resurgere. His previous rigorous physical training helped Lee keep his body under control during the sessions, despite the exhaustion, and he used the additional training he'd received while at the War College to discipline his mind, compartmentalize the pain, the anger, the fear. Resurgere continued to apply new tactics, but so far, he hadn't found a way to break Apollo's defenses. He sniffed one potential vein he could tap, though, as Lee soon discovered.

"So, Lee Adama, son of William…today's another day for our dance."

"Maybe you should change the tempo…"

"I plan to."

Lee waved his arm out in front of him, as if to say, _start_.

"First, you smell. It's time you were thoroughly doused in water." The Captain snapped his fingers, and two men came from an adjoining room. They carried a large metal container filled with water and ice. Resurgere nodded to them; Lee braced himself for what was coming. He focused on inhaling air as he was forced onto his knees, and then he felt the hands shove him sharply into the tub. Eyes closed, he struggled a moment, his body involuntarily responding to the immediate danger. Lee willed himself to focus, thinking about a melody from his childhood, attempting to let air bubble slowly through his nose despite the force and twisting caused by the paws gripping his skull from above his back.

An intense shift of his body into room air caused his lungs to heave; he opened his eyes for a second, trying to take in any altered clues in his surroundings. With alarm, he tasted salt against his lips; the water had been saturated, meaning it could damage his eyes and cause nausea if swallowed. The presence of salt also meant the water was below freezing; they must have used a special low-pressure chamber to simulate conditions necessary to create northern ocean water, where the ice above the surface didn't melt because the water below it remained at 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Lee caught a glimpse of the dark-skinned Captain smirking as he signaled with his arm that another round was in order.

For the next ten minutes, Apollo was aware of repeated dousing. His lungs felt on fire; his skin was stinging, then numb and taut from the frigid salt water, and his ears sloshed with trapped liquid and air. Lee's body sank beneath him; nearly all of his energy was gone. Somehow, he'd continued to focus on the melody in his mind, when he wasn't tracking the moments to breathe or to let the air out; nevertheless, Adama's grip on consciousness was slipping too.

Moments later, Apollo was aware of being propped into a chair, his arms and chest tied to the back of the seat to keep him upright but immobile. Resurgere must have dismissed the others; they were alone in the cell.

"Now that you've been properly loosened up, Adama, let's talk about your father."

Lee fought to see the man's face clearly; his vision was blurry and water continually dripped from his hair into his lashes. His whole face felt scalded, and he was shivering, a mixture of inflamed skin and lowered body temperature; the water had drawn the warmth from his body through his head, where most body heat dissipated.

"I suspect, with that teeth chattering, your lips are still too numb to move, so let me start talking. I've been studying your records, Captain Lee Adama; it's amazing what's stored in Academy databases these days. Quite the military tradition—William, Lee, Zak. I see Zak's been in for nearly two years now; papa must be so proud. And you—top scores in flight school, then War College, and a CAG command on your first assignment. Too bad your father doesn't really seem to see you, _your_ accomplishments."

_Silence_, Lee thought—_still your best weapon_…

"Yes, silence is effective, Captain Adama. But I don't think it will shut out the words of truth, will it?

"Your father was out in deep space for most of your boyhood, and divorced your mother when you were ten. Yet here you are…in deep space…leaving your younger brother behind. How do you deal with the guilt, since you've been the one to protect him? Who's guiding Zak now that you're out here living your father's life?

"Maybe you don't need anyone…there's been no serious girlfriends, no apparent female love of your life…so I could conclude you love flying vipers most of all, or love the military. But I don't think that's the case either; the records of your mother's drunkenness, coupled with your father's dismissiveness…well, I suspect you have 'issues' in bonding with other people.

"That's it, isn't it, Lee—the only person you could confide in was Zak, and eventually you've given that up as well—to do what? Fulfill your distant father's wishes, gain his attention? Protect a weapon that can destroy much more than electronic components? What does Lee Adama need? Can he exist on flying and principles alone?"

"You d-d-don't know what the fr-fr-frak you're talking about. If-if you're g-g-going to interr-terr-ogate me, d-do it. This psycho-ana-analysis cr-cr-crap isn't ge-ge-getting you any cl-cl-closer to the answers you wa-want."

Despite the intense shivering he was still experiencing, making it difficult to talk, Apollo knew he had to do something. He was angry; the Captain had tapped into a deep nerve, reminding Adama of things he couldn't possibly afford to think about now. He needed to channel the anger, direct it outward where it belonged, use it to save his life.

"My point, Lee Adama, is it may be a good thing you don't need anyone, that you can survive based on a commitment to a military code alone. The Eos crew thinks you died four weeks ago; your father and mother have conducted a memorial ceremony already. And you'll be relieved to know Zak, at least, appears to have found someone he can confide in now, since a blonde was seen accompanying him to the memorial, intimately comforting him. You're a wisp of reminiscences, Lee. No one knows you still exist. If you tell me about the e-bomb, how it's constructed, how it works, what caused the explosions, then at least you'd be making a difference for the Colonial people before you die. And you are dying, Apollo; it might take quite a while, depending on how we play with different elements, but eventually—"

Lee planted his feet on the floor and stood up violently; to his amazement, the bonds around his shoulders slid up the sides of the chair-back, as the chair dropped against gravity. On instinct, using his hands to push against the seat, he managed to wrest the bonds completely off the chair, and it crashed to the floor. With full lower mobility, Apollo used the shock effect to his advantage, swinging his leg hard into the back of Resurgere's knees and knocking the man forward. He lifted his leg again and wielded his foot, heel-first, forcefully into the Captain's lower spine, then rapidly lifted his foot a second time and smacked the man in his left kidney. Resurgere sunk flat against the floor and tried to roll onto his side. In an animalistic fury, Apollo stomped the man's head, feeling part of the skull give way as the momentum of his leg crushed flesh against metal.

Breathing heavily, knowing it was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before the adrenaline surge subsided and he likely passed out, Lee struggled to grab the bonds still around his chest, finally managing to pull a sufficient end out and use his hands to work himself free. He staggered into the corridor, shutting the door to buy a little time before the Captain's body was discovered.

Apollo was frustrated; his legs felt loose and uncertain under him, and it was hard to move with any swiftness. Leaning against the wall as he stumbled along, knowing the friction slowed him down but he could remain upright, Apollo squinted to read the signs and decipher the color codes marking the hallway. He had to try to make it to his viper; it was the only chance he had before they killed him in revenge.

An unexpected loud boom and intense rocking of the ship immediately caused Adama to fall to his knees. A second boom could be heard; klaxons blared overhead as explosion sounds ricocheted off the metal walls, reverberating along each corridor. _The Eos; it had to be_. Lee thought frantically; would they focus on blowing up the base transport, or attempt to board? He remembered a plan the Commander had shared early on in the mission; it outlined the strategy for boarding an enemy ship to gather intel and evidence against Aias. Which meant…all he had to do was head in the direction of gunfire, and he'd be in the middle of the action. The Eos crew members should be able to recognize him as Apollo—at least, he had to hope, knowing his face was pretty distorted from the water torture.

Melding himself into a bulkhead corner, Lee tried to listen carefully, figure out what was happening. His ears were still messed up; the pressure and the popping made fine audio selection difficult. Closing his eyes, Lee guided his instincts to take over; any voice, any sound that registered as familiar might mean his freedom. The explosions were continuing; alarmed cries and moans of wounded Aias personnel floated in and out of Adama's hearing. His heart lurched when he recognized the grinding noise of a hull penetration drill; it was close! This might be the first real lucky break he'd gotten in a while…

Loud clanking signaled the hull had been breached and immediately sealed with an entry coupling tube. Minutes later, the reassuring thuds of arriving soldiers hitting the metal floor coaxed Lee to emerge from his hiding place. A familiar face—Lieutenant "Snapper" Collins—stepped towards him.

"My gods. My gods! It's Apollo—we've found Apollo!" The other members of the Eos team turned and looked, taking in the physical state of the CAG. "Soldiers—get him the frak out of here! Tanker, I want you to lift him into the raptor above us, and make the jump back to the Eos. Alert them you've found Lee Adama and that it's a medical emergency. Move!"

Tanker nodded, then signaled to another two crew members to help him hoist Apollo up. A cable dropped down, and they seated him in the harness. Everything in Lee's body hurt, and he wanted to let his body collapse, but he didn't dare. The winch pulled him up into the tube and he sensed strong arms lifting him onto the raptor floor. Tanker followed close behind. Lee's eyes caught the face of one of his pilots, Tigereye, as she leaned over him, smiling broadly. "Damn, Sir. You have no idea how wonderful it is to see those blue eyes again—" she choked back tears. "We all thought…it appeared you had died in action, Sir."

Lee nodded, unable to speak. Someone on the other side of him was administering morpha, and he could feel his consciousness drifting.

"Let the morpha work its magic, Captain. You're safe now. Safe."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the next five days, Lee was heavily sedated. He couldn't remember much of anything, except the voice of Commander Thornton and the floating faces of medics, as well as Dr. Breslin. The morpha helped with much of the pain, but his face was nearly covered in bandaging, and his vision continued to falter; sometimes he could see things fairly clearly, while at other times, everything seemed smeared around the edges. There were many IV tubes; nutrients, saline, morpha, antibiotics, and blood anticoagulants. He tried not to move much in those short periods of wakefulness.

When he could feel in his body a little more and his thoughts seemed less jumbled, Apollo realized he was awake and they were tapering the sedatives and the morpha. Fumbling around with his right hand, he located the call button. A medic came in.

"Wonderful to see you more alert, Sir. How can I be of help?"

"Ca…" gods, his throat was dry. "Ca-can you raise…"

"Of course. It will probably feel good to sit up, but don't be surprised if there are some aches in new places, especially around the torso."

He pressed the controls, allowing Lee to sit at a 65-degree angle. Lee gasped slightly; his chest hurt just from the pressure of gravity. "Water…" he croaked out.

The medic handed him a small cup. "You had some tissue damage in your lungs; it's healing, but it will hurt like a son-of-a-bitch for a while longer."

"Great…"

"Truthfully, your physical condition is—well, remarkable. I've never seen someone hold up so well under…under—"

"Torture?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be insensitive."

Lee shook his head. "It's a fact…I can hardly hide it." He laughed briefly as he gestured across his face, still covered in bandages, then instantly regretted the movement; the coughing fit lasted nearly two excruciating minutes.

"I'll increase the morpha, Captain Adama; your lungs are going to continue protesting normal use."

"Thank gods there's something you can do for this…"

"And here I understood you were an atheist, Captain." It was Doctor Breslin. He nodded towards the door, indicating to the medic it was time to leave the room.

"So how's our miracle patient?"

Lee shrugged his shoulders. _How the hell should I know_?

"I guess it would help if I filled in some of the missing details." The doctor sat down next to the bed, looking straight into Lee's eyes.

"You've had quite an adventure of late, or so your body's telling me. Near as I can determine, there's no permanent damage from the decompression sickness; we scanned for neurological issues and bone deterioration, and you came out clean."

Lee closed his eyes for a moment, to signal he was relieved to hear the results.

"The other…it…you'll recover close to 100 from your injuries. That body of yours is a damned machine; despite the severity of the injuries sustained, every vital organ and structure is intact."

"And my face…"

"There's some scarring, Lee. Your back too. However, it isn't deep enough to be permanent; with some laser treatment and proper tissue rehydration, I think even the scarring can be eliminated. You'll still be able to make women swoon." The doctor smiled.

"Uhhmmm." Apollo wasn't sure of the best response.

"The Commander would like to spend some time talking, but I'm ordering you to rest for now."

"Th-Thank you, Doctor."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ten days after Lee returned to the Eos, the nightmare about Kara took place. It set his recovery back; no one knew what had triggered the dream or what the topic was about, but those closest to Apollo recognized something happened to his spirit in the aftermath. The words of Resurgere throbbed in his brain; _"Zak, at least, appears to have found someone he can confide in now, since a blonde was seen accompanying him to the memorial, intimately comforting him." _Before the vision, Apollo had rationalized the statement; even if what the Captain reported had been true, it only meant Kara was being a good friend to Zak, helping him through a terrible time. Now, the nightmare—the feeling he had lost her, their connection had been severed—it seemed to confirm the ugliness of the Aias terrorist's suggestion…"_intimately_ _comforting him."_

Unable to make sense of his emotions or the meaning of recent events, Adama decided to push everything away. He withdrew further from the people around him, let numbness settle in. Better to recognize everything in his life was built upon sand; better not to form emotional attachments that could be destroyed in the vacuum of space. He was essentially trapped, and Resurgere had been right about that: only flying and adherence to principles might be left to him in this military life. Where the man had been wrong was in his assessment Lee didn't seem to need anyone; for all the Captain's research, he failed to glean the most important detail—that "blonde" was the love of Apollo's life. Lee was confident Resurgere mentioned Kara's presence without realizing her connection; he probably didn't even know her name. The terrorist meant the description to be a reflection of how Zak moved on, quickly, in developing new confidants and attachments, an insult to Lee's bond with his brother. Unfortunately for Lee, the words still had the intended effect, and he was grateful he escaped before anyone figured out Lee Adama was ready to break apart at last.

Resolved to channel all of his energy into the Eos mission, Lee followed the rehabilitation regimen and worked hard to get his reflexes back. Fourteen days after his rescue, Apollo walked into his Commander's office seeking reinstatement to active duty.

"You've healed rapidly, Apollo; it's an honor to have you back as CAG."

"Thank you, Sir. It's good to be under your command again."

Thornton pointed at the chair by the desk. "Please have a seat." Apollo eased into the chair, trying not to wince from the nerve tingling that still plagued him.

"Sir, I'd like to know the status of the weapons testing and our mission."

"Here are the summary reports from the first test; based on those findings, we decided to delay the second one until we resolved the terrorist threat." Thornton handed Lee a stack of documents.

"I don't completely understand, Sir—what's behind the delay?"

"The casualties during this mission have been higher than expected. In addition, Aias is more well-funded than previously believed. After you…when we thought you'd been killed, the Admiral Board determined it was better to try to take out the Aias group altogether, prevent any other tragic losses."

"My father didn't…" Apollo suspected the Board's shift in attention had something to do with that famous Adama bellowing.

"Your father was very upset, Lee. He wouldn't accept our assessment of the viper's destruction, at first—and he was right, thank the gods." Thornton paused to emphasize his own relief in learning Lee had survived.

"Commander Adama only backed down once the Board agreed to halt the mission and focus on taking down Aias. You should know…he finally…" Lee understood what Thornton was reluctant to share.

"My parents held a memorial service—yes, I heard. Somehow the Aias Captain, Resurgere, knew about that. He seemed to have a great deal of information from my files, Commander; it was—and is—disconcerting." Lee's features went taut for a moment; he still couldn't comfortably explain to himself how Resurgere found out so damned much.

Thornton realized how troubling the leaks were; he hadn't learned all of the specifics yet, even after Lee's debrief, but resolved to put a few officers on the hunt for clues.

"It disturbs me as well, Captain; I'm assigning a team to evaluate possible data breaches. I'm sorry you found out about the…that way. Your father—it wasn't what he wanted to do. He still believed you were alive. But your mother and brother seemed to need…closure."

"I understand. Has my family been notified I'm still breathing?"

"We used the security channel to tell your father, yes. He wanted us to send you home, but I argued you were recovering well and would be the best asset in helping us bring down the rest of the deep space Aias team. Commander Adama agreed—reluctantly."

"I—you destroyed the Aias base. What more is there to—"

"We destroyed the first base. It turns out there was a second one established, and most of the rogue fighters are being built and housed there."

"The Aias group is building these ships this far out in space?"

"It's hard to believe, but yes, that's exactly what's happened. It helps explain why we couldn't locate any frigates, and how they could outnumber us in every engagement."

Apollo sat silently, absorbing the information fully.

"Captain Adama, any ideas as to where the second base might be located?"

"No…no. I'll think back, see if anything stands out as a clue. All I could share right now is that Resurgere was convinced the e-bomb threatened humanity. He kept asking about the large explosions—why there was collateral damage."

"Explosions, plural?"

"Yes—didn't you go back to look at the damaged replicas?"

"No. As I explained earlier—the whole mission was put on hold. The military didn't believe the test site contained any clues for the rogue base location, and we couldn't complete additional scientific studies, given our orders, so we opted to turn our attentions to hunting for and capturing the Aias base."

"Well, Resurgere had a digital video of the whole event—he played it for me to see. It revealed the large explosion came from the third replica, and the other two exploded moments afterward."

Thornton whistled under his breath. "I…we need to get to the bottom of that, Apollo. The terrorist was correct in wondering about the collateral damage; the whole point of using an e-bomb is to disable enemy actions without further destruction. It doesn't make sense…"

"You should search the transport for the video, Sir—it might help the scientists start to solve the mystery."

"I'll send Tigereye back; the enemy ship was secured and the prisoners escorted to the nearest military operation, so she should be able to sweep through pretty quickly."

"What are my current orders, Commander?"

"Start studying the nearby star maps and see if anything strikes a chord. Inspect our current viper contingent—we're down to 35 birds and 38 pilots. Reinforcements are coming—I expect them to arrive in the next 48 hours—so you'll need to oversee the loading of 15 new birds and orient 12 nuggets."

"Understood. Permission to—" Lee was standing up to move away from the desk.

"Wait, Captain. There's one more item…"

"Yes, Sir?" Lee was puzzled.

"I promised your father—Commander Adama—I'd offer you the opportunity to take ten days of shore leave, if you wanted—"

"I do not want it, Sir." The words were rapid, almost biting. "There's nothing—" Lee caught himself. "I appreciate the gesture, but my interest is in completing the mission. I'm convinced this weapon…it's a necessary next step in our readiness strategy. If Aias believes…the delay in rollout sends a message to the terrorists we can be deterred from our goals, and we need to communicate a different statement, let them know we are determined."

"Agreed, Captain. Dismissed." Thornton sensed a coldness in his CAG that hadn't been present at the start of his tour of duty; it was a common evolution for a soldier, but for some reason, Lee's detachment was a little harder to accept.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep (present): Pegasus, Thirteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

The com was ringing, causing both Lee and Luanne to startle.

"You're quite a storyteller, Lee…" Louanne found herself whispering, as Apollo stood up to grab the receiver.

"Commander here."

"XO, Sir. The scouting team's back—tylium has been located. Recommending immediate jump to coordinates to begin mining."

"Are the workers in place—are we ready to—"

"Everything's been taken care of, Apollo. I saw to these plans myself."

"Excellent, Helo. Notify Tigh and Dualla, then the RSG and other civilian captains—let's make this happen."

"Affirmative, Sir."

Lee hung up and turned to Kat. "Seems we lucked out on our fuel problem…there's mining to be done." He grinned, feeling a little more energized; recounting the events on the Eos had dampened his spirits.

"Great news, Apollo! We're getting closer to our goal…"

"Yes, we are." Lee moved towards her, suddenly feeling the urge to kiss Kat, register the warmth of her lips against his own. His body responded the minute she was in his arms; he was about to give in to his imagination, when a rush of something intangible went through him, and he broke away from her.

"Wha—"

"Kat, I…gods, I can't believe it might be possible! Come with me." Apollo grabbed her hand, drawing them both to the hatch. He started jogging in the corridor; Kat quickly fell in step. With some consternation, she realized the two were rapidly approaching the engine section.

Apollo entered in the requisite key codes and stepped into the main engine area. The sound was deafening; Lee grabbed two communications headsets, activating the noise cancellation switches.

"Can you hear me, Kat?" She put her thumb up. "Okay—let's start looking."

"Um, what are we trying to find?"

"An unmarked equipment box in a hidden location."

"Right. Great idea, Apollo—any more details you could reveal here? Like, what would the box look like, what would be in it…"

"If I'm right—and as crazy as this seems, I'm thinking I was prompted by…well, by something—to remember the Eos story for this reason—we're gonna find the components for a cooling laser and energy output."

Kat's eyes went wide. It clicked—he was definitely onto something big. "Not sure why, but I believe you…what can I do to help search?"

"Scan the walls for any seams that might be off-kilter, any panels that don't appear familiar."

"Familiar? That's some sense of humor you've got, Apollo." She headed towards a far wall, scanning each section for signs of anything. Lee moved to a different wall, beginning the same exercise.

For a tense 20 minutes, neither spoke as they used their eyes and fingertips to trace metal seams.

Then Apollo shouted into Kat's headset—"Over here! I think I've found something!"

She slid next to him, and they both traced the outline of a panel door. Wordlessly, Lee pressed his fingers along the sides, then in combinations, until they both saw the thin metal piece spring out from the surrounding wall. Using the flashlight he'd grabbed when they first entered the room, he pried open the small door to shine the beam into the inner compartment. His heart was beating rapidly; there was equipment resting in the cavity, and it appeared just as he remembered. Handing the flashlight over to Kat, he moved to the side, so she could examine the basic construction.

"I'll be damned, Apollo. It's—whoever installed the equipment was clever. There's nothing to give it away…do you think the ship's engineer knows—"

"No. And he won't. I want to check for the other components, make certain…if it's all real, we'll share the knowledge with Helo next. Let's go." Resealing the panel, Apollo set the flashlight back in its rightful position, so no one would suspect anything had been touched. He walked over to the supply area, where a stack of flashlights sat on a shelf, and removed one from the bottom of the pile. Moving to the entrance, he waved Kat to follow; they put the powered-down headsets back onto the rack and proceeded down the hall.

Once they reached the ship's core, Kat watched with amazement as Lee located the key power trunks leading into the main weapons battery. Aligned perfectly behind the expected tubes and cables, it was unlikely anyone would have spotted the foreign objects. After Apollo ran his fingers along the main conduits, he pulled Kat out of the space and led her into a side hallway, obviously wanting to talk for a minute.

"Y'know, maybe you'd better tell me how this Eos mission of yours turned out before we look for the main control panel in the CIC." Kat eyed Lee sternly; she wanted to lighten the mood, but it wasn't possible—too much was running around in her head.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Lee met the stare, knowing it was important she felt he was on solid footing; if she didn't trust him, right now, she'd never be able to commit to the weapon's use, and he was keenly aware the discovery of the e-bomb could only mean one thing: it was their best chance to handle the problem of multiple basestars, at least in the last phase of the rescue operation.

"Don't pretend there's not more to what happened back then, Lee—I can see it in your eyes. In this moment, and in that picture with your mother—"

"What? Kat, I don't—"

"Lee, don't frak with me! That story seems half-finished. I'm right—admit it."

"Yes, you are, but that still doesn't—"

"And you did go back to Caprica…but not because you wanted to." Lee winced and bowed his head, confirming her assumption.

"Wounded?" At that, Apollo raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Your left shoulder—the scar along the scapula."

Lee laughed softly. "Wow—most people wouldn't have made that connection."

"Probably not. But I've seen more…"

"True, Lieutenant. True." His gaze softened; it was easier to talk to someone who connected the pieces together without much elaboration on his part, and he was flooded with a feeling of appreciation for Kat's presence.

"Okay. For now, I'm gonna leave the rest of the speculation to another day. But…" she grabbed his arm lightly—"you'll finish it—the story. Including the part with Thrace."

Lee rolled his eyes. "I'll finish what's important to tell. I need to talk to my CAG now—can you handle that?" He was suddenly exasperated; they were on the verge of discovering something more important that Lee Adama and his sorry little past.

Kat pulled back, understanding she'd crossed a line. _Keep up, Catraine…_

"What's the next step, Sir?"

Lee flinched at the use of "Sir" but knew he'd asked for the shift, so he pressed on. "I'll go on to the CIC, ask Helo to clear the deck. I want you to return to the engine room—dog the hatch. Use the headset to find the secured CIC link; I need to test the sequences, see if the components are working."

"Are you frakkin' crazy, Sir? What if the laser doesn't shut down, or the energy output? What if we fry the frakkin' ship's power, or take out a civilian vessel?" Kat was suddenly frightened; was Apollo thinking clearly? Should she get Helo?

"Kat, there's the abort sequence, and a kill switch located on the connector board between the other components in the engine room. If anything goes wrong—"

"And what about the other ships, Lee—we can't…"

"Godsdamnit, Kat, if I have to order you, I will—"

"Frakkin' asshole. Fine. I'm on—"

Lee grabbed her, to pull her back; he slid his arm along her spine to hold her close as he kissed her fully. It was short, but enough to break the building tensions between them.

"That work with other women?"

"Yep. Most of the time, anyway…" Lee gave her his best charming grin.

"Well, it's better than a slap across the face, at least. Look, I'm not trying question your authority, I just…this seems sudden and risky."

A sigh escaped Lee's lips. "You're right—it is. Both. But there's no one with the expertise…we don't have a scientist to consult and I don't want to bring anyone else in on this yet. If I'm right…"

"Then we have one hell of a surprise for those frakkin' toasters."

"Yeah. Ready?"

"Yes, Sir. I'll signal you in five. Should give you time to clear out the CIC."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Apollo let his gaze say the things he didn't know how to put into words. Kat walked away towards the engine room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Despite Helo's worried looks and the unfriendly whispers in the room, Lee secured the CIC and stood alone next to the main console. He started walking slowly around the table, running his fingers along the sides, trying to feel subtle differences. With a start, he remembered to look for the up-lighting switch, and began pressing his fingers into the nearby area. A satisfying panel movement rewarded him for his efforts. To his relief, the buttons were color-coded the same way as on the Eos; he closed his eyes to recall the sequences for each step. Finally, Kat was on the line; it was time to find out if the weapon had the potential to work.

"Okay, Kat—I'm entering in the laser initiation sequence now." After a moment, he asked, "Do you see anything, hear anything?"

"The left component shows a red light working, Apollo, and I can feel a slight vibration through my fingers." It was impossible to hear anything over the sound of the engines, but the shaking in her hand indicated the machine was operating.

"Great, Kat. I'm going to enter in the emergency abort code; tell me if the light goes out."

A few seconds passed. "Out, Sir."

"Thank gods. Alright, one more…energy output triggered."

"Yellow light on right component box is activated, Sir." A power fluctuation caught them both off-guard; Lee scanned his readings and concluded the energy drain was noticeable, but not damaging.

"I'm entering in the abort sequence again."

"Light went out, Sir."

"Great—test complete, Lieutenant. Contact Tigh, Dualla, and Racetrack; have them prepare for a meeting aboard the Pegasus in 90 minutes."

"Yes, Sir."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Ten Weeks After Occupation**

"Tom, are you sure the Cylon cabinet will be off-planet tomorrow at 1300?" Sam was reviewing the plans a final time, readying for the large resistance strike and intended rescue of Kara and Laura.

"Yeah, I'm certain. They're meeting…to discuss how to recruit a human police force. A stepped-up religious indoctrination strategy is also on the agenda." Zarek looked grim; the Cylons were becoming more aggressive against the Colonials, and Six and Boomer seemed unable to stem the tide of bitterness Cavil and Doral were stirring up within the cabinet.

"We wish…sorry you have to be—up there—when…"

"Just don't frak it up, Sam. The suspicions will be running high; if you don't grab the two now, there won't be another opportunity."

"Yeah, I know. We all do." Sam slapped Tom's back lightly to add emphasis to the words.

"I'm compelled to ask one more time—as the President of the Colonies, such as it is—are we certain the lives of these two people are worth the costs to the whole settlement? I've been watching the Cylons on the cabinet for nearly two months, and they—they're machines with children's intensity of emotion, with children's lack of impulse control. This whole thing could literally blow up in our faces…they'll want revenge. No settler will be safe. The Cylons might decide it's better to wipe us out after all."

Adama spoke. "The settlers are going to begin resisting in pockets, regardless, Tom. There's too much pent-up frustration—the Colonials are worn to the bone, cold, hungry, and without much hope. When you haven't much to live for, you start to figure death is preferable to enslavement. Even if we abandoned this plan, there'd be others in its place…a lot of people have loved ones in the detention center, or have lost friends to fatal injuries due to exhaustion, or have watched others die from disease. It's time to act—come what may."

"Bold words, Admiral—I hope the gods see it the way you do." Zarek shook his head, unconsciously, knowing the path was set. He shuddered, an intense feeling of cold gripping him; the image of a gun going off in his chest passed through his mind.

"Zarek, you know the stories coming from the few who've been released; we're probably Kara and Roslin's only lifeline." Sam's voice was low and pleading.

Tom nodded. "I get it Sam—I really do. I just—I have a very sickening feeling about what's going to happen next."

Knowing there was nothing else to say that would change anyone's thoughts, the Admiral drew the group's attention to the settlement map and detention center blueprint.

"Alright—we're running four primary teams, each with a different objective. _Team Fireworks_ will set up the explosives in six key areas: here—" Adama circled the two detention center targets—"here, at these two junctions on the northern side of the headquarters, and here—" he pointed to the two centurion repair warehouses.

"_Team Galactica_ will take advantage of the expected chaos to move key supplies onto selected grounded ships and inspect them for flight readiness, so we'll accomplish an essential rescue planning task. _Team Viper_ will secure the launch keys and replace them with the 'dummy' versions. _Team Liberation_ will penetrate the prison and extract Thrace and Roslin.

"Is everyone clear on the sequence and coordination? The pre-positioning has to be precise, or we'll lose the timing advantage." All members of the group affirmed readiness.

"If we're set, I probably ought to head back. I'm fortunate Caprica decided to spend the evening on the basestar, and I want some down time." Tom stood to go.

"Note everything that you can, Tom. We don't know much about the current basestars, other than what Sharon's been able to describe." The President nodded. "And…stay sharp. We need you, Zarek—you're a strong leader. We appreciate everything you've done to get us to this point." The Admiral put his arm out to shake Tom's hand; Tom responded and smiled, for the first time in many weeks, as far as Bill could remember.

Tory moved towards the steps of The Cellar. "Tom, I'll walk back with you; I've got some nervous energy to burn off tonight."

"Always welcome the company."

The leadership group broke apart, with most making the trek back to their tents. As the last person dropped off the path, Tory sped up her walking slightly, to match Tom's pace. He was a little shocked when she grabbed his arm, entwining it in her own; he shortened his stride, so she wouldn't be out of breath by the time they reached the Phygera.

"So you've got a jumpy stomach?" He tilted his head towards her, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"Yeah. And I know you do too; I thought a little conversation might be good for both of us." She grinned briefly.

"As long as it isn't about our current situation, I'm all for it."

"Okay then…what was it like, growing up on Sagittaron?"

"Well, I'm not sure that's where I wanted to go either…"

"I'll tell you about life in Delphi on Caprica, if you go first." Her eyes glinted conspiratorially.

"Hmmmm. I've certainly been curious about that…Alright then. Not sure what you want to—"

"Just…start."

"Life on Sagittaron was hard. My parents were miners; both died from lead exposure when I was still in my early teens. I had a younger brother, Marcus, who became part of the Aias organization when I was thirty. I wanted to lead my own resistance group, not follow in someone else's, so I organized guerilla activities on my world during my twenties and early thirties, trying to ensure a better future for my people than the life my parents had. My organization was labeled a terrorist group, and that was true; having had many years in prison to reflect on my choices, I realize now there were other ways to protest the treatment of Sagittarians. People were killed because of my actions; I owed a debt to Colonial society for it, which I paid in full, after twenty-three years.

While I was in prison, I learned my brother had been killed by the Colonial military while on a deep-space mission with the Aias Organization. He fought for the same ideals as I did, and I hated the military for what happened, even though I understood Marcus was also part of a terrorist group. I had no other family.

"Despite the fact I fulfilled my term of imprisonment, at the age of fifty-five, the Colonial government decided—given my history and that of Marcus, before his death—I was 'too dangerous' to be returned to free society. At the time of the Cylon attacks, I was aboard the Astral Queen to be taken to the mining colony of Scales, a moon around Libris. I would have 'freedom' there, as long as I never attempted to leave.

"Ironically, now I'm the President, trying to protect people I once swore to destroy, working with a military leader, and in a place where I cannot leave of my own volition. Worse, people are going to be killed because of my actions. I personally think the gods have cursed me." Tom was walking quickly again despite his intentions, his pace spurred by the intensity of his emotions; he had fallen into a stupor, forgetting Tory 's arm was still wrapped around his. A strong tug broke the spell; he stopped completely, turning to face her. His eyes were stormy, full of pain and pride and remorse.

Tom's hands, though gloved, went to Tory's cheeks. She was inhaling shallowly, while her eyes searched his, trying to let Zarek know she wasn't judging him. He bent to kiss her; it was urgent but controlled. Tory reached to clasp his shoulders, letting him feel her emotion through the way she returned the embrace, slipping her mouth open to feel the warmth and pleasure of his kiss.

He pulled apart from her, surprise written in his features. Tom's breathing was ragged; she sensed the desire caught beneath the surface.

"I don't…that wasn't smart…but gods, Tory—it was wonderful." His voice was low, trembling slightly; he was aware they might be seen or overheard, and a fear caught in his throat as he imagined the danger from Caprica.

"Yeah, it was wonderful." She smiled, the moon catching the flicker of her gaze.

"Tory, things are so complicated right now; I can't—"

"Sshhh." She put a gloved finger to his lips. 'You don't have to explain anything, Tom."

They started forward, slowly; the Phygera was only a few yards away. Tom stopped at the bottom step of the ship, facing Tory once more.

"You have to hold up your end of the bargain, Ms. Foster—and I'm gonna hold you to it, when I return from the…ship." He couldn't bring himself to say "basestar," not yet.

Both of them also knew the next conversation was at least two weeks in the future; once the resistance campaign began tomorrow, neither could risk any contact in the near-term.

"Tom—I know it's hard…the entire situation. I can see how much it's taken out of you. Keep this, and know you are valued, that people—that I—care about you." Pulling off her glove, Tory reached into a coat pocket, then turned an open palm to Zarek with a small object resting there. He removed his own glove, lifting the object into the scant light to examine it. The wooden oval, intricately painted, was about two inches in diameter.

"It's a talisman—a carefully rendered painting of Achilles carrying his great shield. My mother claimed this came from a well-known seer at Delphi, and she swore it always provided protection. It's meant to be held close to the heart—kept in a pocket or hung on a neck chain. I realize you probably can't do that, with the Cylon around, but hopefully you'll find a special spot for it."

"I don't know what to say…I'm…you've moved me, Tory." Tom stepped close to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Bending, he lightly kissed behind her ear, murmuring "…moved me deeply…" He nuzzled her neck and grazed his lips against her cheek before kissing her tenderly, longingly. Finally, his forehead resting against hers, he sighed in resignation; he didn't want to step into the Phygera, face everything ahead.

"Come back, Tom Zarek. Keep your shield up, and you'll be strong enough to handle whatever's thrown at you. I'll see you soon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hi, Lee." Kara was sitting near the window, her back to the steps. "Good morning, Kara." CylonLee (Leoben) moved near, kissing her cheek. "I've got a surprise for you today."

Kara turned to look at his face, trying to gauge the relative danger. Usually CylonLee's "special" plans meant something involving injury or mental discomfort. Her foot was feeling better and her facial swelling was finally subsiding; they were continuing to administer drugs that kept her mind quite foggy, but she was allowed to paint, so when the medications waned a bit and she could steady her hand enough, once or twice a day, she'd brush abstract drawings. Any way to pass her days in relative peace was preferable to the emptiness and agony of the previous months. Kara wanted to remain in the relative cocoon she recently entered.

Sometimes, as she painted, Kara would slip in things she was sure CylonLee wouldn't recognize; the meaning would pass in and out of her conscious recognition, but if she stared at her paintings later, flashes of words or images would come back to her. She struggled, over and over, to try to make sense of them; her memories were so scrambled somehow. _Apollo…something about Apollo. A god with intense eyes…god of the sun…life, support. Was that right? And CylonLee—he was…Cylon, but he was Lee…no, not Lee…but she called him Lee…why was that name important? Cylon…enemy…but CylonLee…her only contact with outside…her means of survival now._

At present, deciding his body language indicated she wasn't being threatened right now, Kara remained still in the chair, waiting for CylonLee to elaborate. Kara found, with her fragmented thought processes, it was simpler to say as little as possible. After such a long stretch of time being isolated, Kara didn't want to talk anyway—her voice and thoughts hardly mattered in the scheme of things.

"We're going to walk to another location, so you can talk to an old friend of yours." Kara's eyes widened slightly; who? Could she remember anything? The past—Galactica—it was surreal; nothing felt familiar. _Damn, if only pieces would…fall…no, come—come together…_

CylonLee helped Kara stand, and handed her crutches to navigate with the cast. He actually lifted her into his arms and carried her up the steps, the crutches tucked under her arm, before unlocking the outer door and then the barred gate. She felt stricken when she realized they weren't going outside; she'd been looking forward to the feeling of fresh air on her face. Instead, CylonLee brought Kara to a different cell in another section of the detention center. There was no way to get her bearings; something in the back of her mind fought to reach the surface, and she had the idea she was supposed to remember how to retrace her steps, but she lost the thought almost as soon as it registered in her consciousness. Kara's movements were slow, unsteady; CylonLee kept a hand around her waist to keep her from pitching forward.

Opening a heavy metal door, Kara was led into a room with two couches. While clearly part of the detention center, the area was not as stark. The temperature was warmer, the couches inviting, and the lighting softer. On the couch, facing Kara, sat a somewhat older woman with auburn hair and glasses. This person seemed familiar—something about Galactica entered Kara's thoughts—but Kara couldn't come up with more information. She looked expectantly at CylonLee.

"Kara, don't you remember Laura Roslin? I know you had a relationship with her in the past."

She shook her head "no." _What's this really about?_

"Laura, I thought it would help you to see a familiar face."

Roslin stared at the Cylon, saying nothing. _She likes silence too_, Kara thought. Studying this woman she couldn't yet remember, Kara noted "Laura" was frail; there was a cast on her left arm and she seemed distant…_drugged too_.

"I'll give the two of you some time together," CylonLee said simply as he exited the room.

Kara maneuvered awkwardly to sit on the couch facing Laura, propping up her foot. She set the crutches on the floor—gently, though she wasn't sure why that was important—and calmly stared at the woman before her. The ability to put complete sentences together was still elusive, but just seeing another human and sitting in a new space was increasing the adrenaline in Kara's system. Subconsciously, she wanted to make that mean something.

"Don't rem-remem-ber you." Kara pointed at Laura, her arm appearing to move without proper motor control.

Roslin tilted her head, studying the young woman's features. _Gods, she's been through hell…she's lost…she really doesn't know me. Oh, Kara—I'm so, so sorry._

Roslin slightly lifted her casted arm, waving it in the direction of Kara's foot. "Guess we've both had it rough lately." She smiled; she wasn't feeling in full control of her mental faculties, but she suspected she was still clearer in her thoughts than Kara at the moment.

"Yeah."

"Leoben?" Roslin knew the answer, but she wanted Kara to realize he was torturing them both.

Kara appeared confused; was that CylonLee? _How did she...her foot…yeah, it was CylonLee who did that…._

"Lee…"

"Commander Apollo—you've been thinking about him?" _Strange transition_, Roslin thought.

"Not Apollo; Lee!"

Laura furrowed her forehead. _What's she trying to say? Gods, I'm not up for this. What is Leoben hoping will happen here? Kara's not putting anything together…she's pretty far gone._

"Kara, you seem pretty out of it; are you in pain?"

Kara jutted out her chin, unable to sit up fully as she struggled to make sense out of anything.

"Pain…yeah. Meds. Lots n' lots…"

"Lots of pain meds." _So they were treating her, but that also meant she probably had significant injuries_.

Suddenly Kara turned her head sharply to stare into Laura's eyes directly. Something seemed to strike her; she moved her mouth to speak, but struggled with how to get her lips to fully cooperate.

"Pres-pres—Presid-ent. Galactica." Kara brightened up slightly, pleased with herself.

"Right…right!" Laura was excited; such a small moment of progress, but it was powerful, given the isolation she imagined they'd both experienced, and Kara's current state of mind. _Bill would be enraged, seeing his surrogate daughter in this shape…_

"Galactica?"

_She wonders where the ship is…_

"Not here."

Kara's mood shifted; her body language became more withdrawn again, as her chest appeared caved in. Gazing into the empty corner, her voice subdued, she said, "No life support. No breath."

Laura shook her head slightly; between her own disorientation and Kara's fragmented comments, it was hard to figure out if they were communicating or not. _Her voice sounds like she's lost hope…maybe I can say something she could understand, later, when the meds wear off._

"Admiral Adama watches over you, Kara. And Apollo. You'll see." Laura watched Kara's face, to see if any of the words registered.

The younger woman's eyes glimmered again, for a long moment. Laura tried to believe that meant she had reached her.

The door opened; both turned towards the sound. Roslin was disappointed to see Leoben.

"Did you have a nice conversation, Kara?" the Cylon asked.

"Yeah. Laura. Galactica."

"Kara, tell Laura how you feel about me." The Cylon smirked, a hard gaze fixed on Roslin as he sat next to Kara on the couch and took her hand.

Kara shook her head; something about saying it in front of this woman was wrong.

"Kara. Call me by my special nickname and say it." His voice took its usual subtly menacing tone. She decided it was easier than finding out what he might follow through on if she didn't respond.

"Kara loves Lee."

"And I love you, Kara." Leoben bent in and kissed her on the lips, lingering. He sat back, almost gloating, as he smiled at Kara and then Laura.

_Everything's upside down…does she even know what's happening? In the name of the Gods, what had this Cylon done to Kara Thrace to drain everything recognizable out of her? And using the name "Lee"—it was sickening—how did Leoben manage to manipulate her into that?_

Roslin's thoughts were interrupted by a series of sounds and commotion outside the room. Leoben stood up quickly, alert and suspicious. Though muffled, Laura would swear she heard explosions, then gunfire. _Its Sam and Sharon…they are trying to rescue us!_

The woman assessed Leoben, trying to decide if there was a way to overtake him and escape out the door. _Even if I managed, Kara can't make it far…_

"I'm not letting either of you out of my sight, Laura, so relax in the seat. I'm sure the disturbance will be over soon." The Cylon shoved her slightly backwards into the couch to make his point.

Voices could be heard yelling, with feet scampering up and down the hallway. A second sound, definitely an explosion, shook the building; Kara's crutches rattled loudly against the floor. Kara herself remained seated on the couch; her arms were crossed over her chest and it almost looked as though she was trembling.

Someone threw the door open, violently; it was one of the Doral models. "Good. You had them in here—"

Leoben signaled for Doral to stop talking. He suspected the resistance had just struck, and they were probably trying to rescue these two prisoners. The Cylon didn't want either woman to realize what was transpiring, or Laura might try something desperate.

Stepping outside into the hall and locking the door behind him, Leoben asked Doral to continue.

"The resistance movement's resumed with a vengeance. Explosions are being reported all across the settlement; the targets were obviously strategic. I'm waiting for confirmation, but it seems they struck the repair warehouses; if that's true, a third of our centurion forces have been damaged or destroyed."

"Casualties?"

"We don't have any totals yet, but it's certain Cylons were killed, and a number of humans."

"We need to determine if the humans were just lashing out, or acting to fulfill larger aims." Leoben had studied the Colonials long enough to realize they often had several agendas, and it would be wise to look for more than the obvious.

Doral eyed Leoben with subtle derision. "Obviously, their larger 'aim' was liberating the two people in that room. The humans hoped to create sufficient chaos to storm the detention center. And they were smart about it; the centurions reported the correct cells were targeted. If you hadn't arranged for the 'visit' today…"

"God protects. Kara's destiny is with us."

Smiling smugly—it was a mixture of condescension and agreement—Doral nodded in response. "You may be right after all. It is uncanny, considering. But I suspect they're working with someone on the inside."

Leoben gestured for Doral to say more; he knew the other Cylon was forcing him to pull the information out bit by bit, as a way of exerting dominance, control.

"There's no logical explanation for how the resistance knew the cell locations; the path taken, the tactics used—they'd seen a detailed map."

"Agreed. The field is narrow: Gaeta, Zarek, Baltar." Leoben pressed two fingers against his lips, weighing the facts.

"Baltar seems unlikely; the humans despise him." Doral didn't think the man had enough spine to actually gather intelligence, and he doubted the other humans would trust anything from the scientist's mouth.

"Which is why he might do it—to get back in their good graces."

"Baltar has been with the Three, and before that, he was addled with drugs."

"True; however, he had more free access in the headquarters—thanks to Caprica—it would be easier to find information he could use as leverage."

"The same could be said of Zarek—thanks to Caprica." Doral's face contorted in disgust; he'd long suspected the man's duplicity, and he was certain his counterpart in the cabinet, currently on the basestar, would agree that the current President was the probable informer.

Leoben paced for a moment, reflecting on Doral's comment. Stopping to face Doral once more, he asked "Has the cabinet been alerted? Caprica can answer to them for her recent actions; the cabinet can best decide how to extract the truth from our suspects. The Colonial President is already aboard the basestar, as his Chief of Staff. We can dispense of the interrogation matter fairly quickly."

"The group is aware of the attacks and awaiting details. I'll share our thoughts with them, and update you when appropriate." Doral started to walk away; Leoben lightly touched his arm.

"In the meantime, I want to keep Kara and Laura here, in case there's a secondary phase to the resistance plans. We'll need to set up a few things…"

Doral nodded. Tilting his head, raising an eyebrow, he decided to find out what he had really sought to discover from Leoben. "Did your plan work? Any revelations?"

Leoben's face remained still, but the tension in his eyes indicated the strategy to allow the two humans to interact hadn't borne any fruit. "An extended period of time is necessary; Kara…she was confused, and unaccustomed to interacting with others—"

"You've probably damaged her beyond recovery. It's inexcusable, the state she's in, Leoben—God will punish you for what you've done. How can she fulfill her destiny when she's barely able to talk? You have her so twisted up inside—calling you by a different name, her amnesia—"

"It's the pain medications. She'll—"

"The fact she needs those medications is still your doing. This regression cannot continue. I'm going to talk to the cabinet to have her once and for all removed from your care." At this statement, Leoben snapped his head fully upright and glared.

"They're going to be busy with other matters right now; you can't do anything without a cabinet vote."

"I'll get it, Leoben—you can be certain. For now, since the two prisoners are being observed through the monitors anyway, in that room, I'll arrange for food and cots to be brought there. I'm also going to send a medic; I want Kara tapered off the narcotics. The last thing she needs is to become addicted and forced to go through withdrawal—assuming you haven't brought her to that low point already. Roslin will be checked out as well—you've been giving her doses of Lethe." Doral watched the other Cylon's body language; it was a supposition, and he wanted confirmation.

Leoben couldn't hide the surprise; his eyes widened and nostrils flared slightly. For Doral, that was all the evidence he needed.

"We'll see if the 'antidote' to counteract the effects works on Roslin. After what happened with Baltar, I don't think the cabinet will look favorably upon your decision. For all that, you haven't even been able to get some meaningful intel—"

"This conversation is over. I've heard enough of your insinuations and threats, Doral. I'm going to walk to headquarters, find out the extent of the losses today." Leoben moved quickly down the hall, not saying anything more; Doral proceeded to the main hub of the detention center, ready to contact the cabinet aboard the basestar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Baltar sat in an overstuffed chair, unfocused and shaking. He was in his robe; with the tremors he continued to have, he couldn't tolerate a bath or shower, so his hair hung over his face in oily chunks. Despite the lack of shaving, his skin was broken out; red splotches could be seen below the patches of his beard. Gaius had lost over 30 pounds since he became addicted to Lethe. Now, his face was skeletal and his hands appeared to be ghostly appendages of white skin and bones.

Two blankets had been wrapped around his frame, but nothing seemed to help the spells of cold that wracked his body with intense shivering. The Three, D'Anna, would help Gaius into this chair each morning, so he could look out on a vast wasteland of snow and ice; no trees, no animals, nothing broke the horizon of never-ending whiteness. _Why anyone would think this view could help a man who was freezing to death was beyond comprehension…_

D'Anna usually returned at sunset to take him back to her quarters. Sometimes she came to visit Gaius during the day, but over the past week since he'd been brought here, no one else talked or noticed him at all. The female Cylon was unlike Caprica, and certainly unlike Vivian; she was attractive but strangely asexual, too masculine in her bearing. D'Anna also appeared to have no empathy; she wouldn't have been manipulated by Baltar's charms, had he been able to muster any energy to display his former persona.

_For the life of me, I can't understand why she brings me to this room every day, and takes me back to a separate room in her personal residence each night. She's clearly disgusted by my current state…_

"Oh, Gaius. Feeling self-pity, are we?"

"Vivian?" Baltar struggled to get his bearings.

"It can't be you; you abandoned me some time ago, despite your promise." There was real pain in his voice; he had been abandoned, left in a dark, frightening space in his mind, and he feared Vivian was permanently gone.

"I told you I wouldn't remain with you as a 'shiftless bag of skin;' Look at you now! Your second overdose was a defiance of God, a rejection of his love and plan for you, and I couldn't be a part of that. It was—and is—so painful, Gaius. You are being punished for your sins; I don't know when God will release you, cleanse you with his forgiveness."

"Then why are you even talking to me now?"

"My heart aches for you; it's been so difficult, experiencing everything through your eyes. I won't stay here long; I only came to tell you that you're in danger, and you need to turn this situation with D'Anna around to your advantage to save yourself. You do want to save yourself, Gaius, don't you?"

"No. I mean I don't…I'm not sure what the struggle's for, to be quite frank. I'm…tired, Vivian. Very tired. There's nothing to—"

"Oh, stop, Gaius—I don't believe you mean it. That's your ego talking—feeling sorry for yourself. You've committed too many crimes in the name of self-interest to give up the fight now!"

"Why do you insist on tormenting me? If you won't let me be with you, and I can't find any pleasure—"

"Don't be an idiot. There's always pleasure to be found—you just need to reach for it. And in your current state, that's going to require real effort, I know, but you're up to the challenge.

"I'm not, Vivian, not really…"

She appeared from behind the chair; he could see her figure before him, stunning still. In the next second, he felt a harsh slap across his cheek, followed by a second one. As he struggled to shake off the dizziness, he saw her wipe the palm of her hand against her dress, evidently in disgust.

"Your body is a temple, Gaius, and you've polluted it. That—that 'substance' on your skin and hair—"

"It's called oil. Personal hazard." He growled the words, unnerved by her attack and withering under her revulsion for what he'd become.

With both hands, Vivian dug into Baltar's beard, pulling him up by the hair at sa sharp angle. His head was completely back against his neck; he had to arch his back to relieve some of the pressure from her hold above him.

"This is the last time I can save your sorry life, Gaius, so make the best of it. You need help; ask D'Anna for it. She's fascinated with you, like a lab rat, and she wants to test you, see what makes you run the wheel 'round and 'round, what draws you to food, what causes pain.

She's also interested in testing herself—what certain emotions are like and how she handles them. I'm sure, once you straighten out, you can provide endless entertainment in that area.

"Why should—what's going to happen that I need—"

"If you don't bond with her quickly—amuse her—she'll put a bullet in your head. Knowing the Threes as I do, I'd guess you have only a couple more days before she'll have an itchy finger."

"But the Cylons need me—the lab work—"

"You mean, the lab work you haven't been doing? You didn't follow my instructions last time, Gaius; that's why you're in this disastrous state now. God's giving you one more chance to fulfill your destiny. Take it—take it now. Otherwise, you will be banished from God forever, in Gehenna—Hell."

"All this damned talk of destiny. What frakkin' destiny? What, Vivian, what is it?"

She let go of his beard, and Baltar was grateful to be able to sink back into the chair; he had little energy left. He felt her sit on his lap, and her eyes were loving when she looked into his.

"DNA. Remember? Genomics—recombinant DNA, RNA, transcription—variants in proteins— between Cylons and humans. Nanotechnology. Cell re-growth."

"But why…"

She put a delicate, long finger to his chapped lips. "Shhhh. We cannot ask why; that's part of our faith. We trust—we sense our purpose and we fulfill it, trusting in God's divine plan for all of us. God has spared your life several times, Gaius—for an essential purpose. The time draws near to put the next phase into motion; you must complete your part. The Cylons and humans are counting on it."

"Humans and Cylons?"

"Of course, Gaius—we are all God's children! Some are meant to serve only Cylons, others only humans. You—you are the bridge spanning both—self-interested and brilliant, you have the will to survive, the will to use both sides in reaching the ultimate goal."

Baltar was silent; he closed his eyes, trying to sort out, through the aches rattling his body, what he actually sensed to be true.

"So…I have to get Three's attention, engage her emotions, let her assist me in getting well. Then it's off to the lab to…begin comparisons between the chromosomes…but which one to start with? I can't possibly map them all…"

"You won't have to. The Cylons already completed that step, some time ago—the information will be in the lab databases. Your job is to study them—focus on the sex pairs first, especially the X chromosome."

"Alright…I will. All of it—I promise."

"Don't promise to me, Gaius—promise to God. Hands clasped in prayer."

As his chest trembled and a strange burning sensation traveled down his spine, Baltar complied.

"Good. Good. Now I have to go; we won't see each other again for quite some time."

Baltar grabbed her waist, holding her against him. "No—No! Why? I need you, Vivian—can't God see that?"

"He does…truly he does. But I've already done more than…it doesn't matter. What matters is you need to act quickly. I will come to you again—I promise—after Kara's begun the main part of her journey."

"Kara—Thrace? That doesn't make any sense—"

"I have to go, Gaius. It's your last opportunity—honor it."

As Vivian vanished, Baltar was aware of footsteps approaching the room. It was D'Anna, and he was resolved to follow Vivian's guidance this time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	9. Ch 9: A Far, Far Better Thing That I Do

A/N: Chapter Title is part of a quote from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities

**A/N: **Chapter Title is part of a quote from Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities

**Chapter 9: A Far, Far Better Thing that I Do**

"_See first that the design is wise and just; that ascertained, pursue it resolutely; do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect." William Shakespeare_

"_Some love is just a lie of the soul; a constant battle for the ultimate state of control. After you've heard lie upon lie, there can hardly be a question of why." Billy Joel, "A Matter of Trust"_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Thirteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

The room felt uncomfortably warm, with six people sitting in close proximity on the two couches in the Commander's quarters. They had all gathered there in the past hour: Dualla, Tigh, Racetrack, Kat, and Helo. Tigh had restrained himself to two shots before hitting his rack, so he was fairly coherent, at present; Dualla had been nearing the end of her Galactica CIC shift, hoping to catch some much-needed sleep, so she was fatigued and hoping this meeting was worth the time it was costing her. Racetrack had been working on CAP coverage and was frustrated to be yanked away in the middle of the process; Helo had been exercising in the gym, able to only take a quick shower before appearing.

Kat sat next to Apollo, perched on the edge of the couch, her foot tapping at an almost blurring pace. Exasperated at the agitation—it would only put everyone else on alert—Lee nudged her and glanced from her eyes to her foot, hoping she would catch on quickly. To his relief, the nervous tic stopped. Lee decided it might be better to stand, to look at faces and gauge reactions as he moved through the information regarding his discovery.

"I appreciate all of you coming here on such short notice. When I realized what we have—a viable way to take out multiple basestars—I wanted to bring the senior military leadership group together immediately." The others watched the Commander intently, trying to decipher his body language. _Excitement…trepidation..._

"Some of you know I served as CAG for another battlestar, before the Second Cylon War—the Eos. I've never spoken about it; the entire first phase mission was classified as top secret, and it was…harrowing. The next phases of the project, after secondary testing, were on a "need to know" basis, and I was no longer involved beyond…a certain point in time."

Helo heard the subtle pauses and wondered, not for the first time, what had happened aboard that ship—why the mention of it seemed to strike Lee like a blow to the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Then Karl noticed Kat, the way her eyes were…_what's she saying, through that gaze? _ He saw compassion…and understanding. _She knows part of the story. When—and why—did he share that with Kat? _Helo then realized Lee was looking back at Kat, acknowledging the support—_it matters to him_._ I need to understand the connection between these two now._

"Since the Cylon nuclear attacks obliterated our worlds, and the military command—as we understood it before the Second War—no longer exists, I've decided to share the key details of that mission now. As you'll see, the information bears directly on our current plans."

Lee outlined the specifics to the group, leaving out many of the details woven into his previous conversation with Kat. He described the power of the weapon, as well as how it was designed; he added information regarding the Aias Organization and the destruction of the second base. The capture, torture, and injuries from the last conflict with the Aias rogues were never mentioned.

"I wanted to highlight some of the problems with Aias to help you understand why the subsequent phases—installation and use—were held as tightly guarded military secrets. We suspected—the Admiral Board had circumstantial evidence—that someone in a key senior military leadership position was allied with the Aias Organization. The identity of the traitor was never discovered, but the concern was so great the Board disseminated mis-information, reporting through military channels that the project had been abandoned. They also insisted fewer than ten people could ever be read into the project in full. I was not on that list; however, my commanding officer from the Eos, George Thornton, was." Apollo stopped; he appeared to be lost in thought, melancholy sketched across his face. Helo noted Kat's small smile of reassurance, and Lee's refocused attention once he spotted it.

"I've seen the weapon in action—twice—and it will definitely take out three basestars, plus raiders in the set square-mile area. Given the skin—" Apollo winced, remembering Helo was with them—"…humanoid Cylon models operate with an cranial-imbedded computer chip, the weapon would wipe them out as well."

"Commander, how does the Pegasus fit in with all of this? Are you saying we've got this weapon aboard? If so, why wouldn't any of the Pegasus crew members—" Helo was abruptly thinking out loud, growing impatient with the pace of the conversation.

"Gods, I'm ahead of myself—I've been focused on what the weapon will do, without explaining we actually have possession of it. I'm just…this is a big discovery, a real break for us." Lee seemed slightly flustered by Helo's interjection; Karl immediately wished he'd been a little more diplomatic. "It's probably also important to talk about how this weapon ended up on our ship."

The room was still; everyone was anxious for Lee to provide some grounding, help them understand how these revelations would impact the future.

"After the destruction of the second Aias base, I returned to Caprica—" Lee flinched, unconsciously, remembering the pain from the deep shoulder/back wound—"and eventually met up with Commander Thornton again…once. It was two months before the Cylons reappeared.

"In that conversation, Thornton confidentially shared with me the weapon had been approved for implementation and would be installed on two battlestars. He hadn't been told which ones, and he wasn't sure if older battlestars would be retrofitted, or the prototypes engineered only on brand-new ships. Thornton was pretty certain, though, the installations would be complete within the next eight weeks from the time of our meeting."

"That still doesn't answer the question—what led you to conclude this weapon is on the Pegasus?" Dee wanted to understand how Lee could be so confident, and why the Admiral wouldn't have been aware of the possibility.

Lee ran his hands through his hair, wondering how he could avoid using phrases like "it came to me in a dream" or "I had a hunch." He took a stab at a factual accounting he hoped might keep the discussion moving along.

"I've been considering every available option, trying to solve our problem of combating multiple basestars during a prolonged battle. Naturally, I remembered the weapon we'd tested aboard the Eos, but I knew there was no viable way to construct something similar now. I'd reflected for a while on my last conversation with Thornton, and was fairly certain the Admiral Board would've selected the most recently commissioned battlestars—_Aegis_ and _Orestes_—for the installations. Both of those ships were destroyed in the first wave of nuclear attacks.

"Recently, though, as I poured over Cain's old logs for military tactics that had been successful in her offensive battle strategy, I was struck by a curious entry—dated the day before the Second Cylon War. She was scheduled for a meeting, two days forward, with Admiral Hank Petersen; he was coming aboard the Pegasus."

Helo whistled slightly under his breath at this comment; it was rare for an Admiral to come to a Commander's battlestar for a meeting. Normally, at that time, Commanders were expected to take a transport to a Colonial capital city for any prolonged discussion.

Lee nodded at Helo, thankful the man remembered the finer points of protocol. "Cain wondered about the reasons for the meeting, and asked her XO to place a follow-up call for details. He reported back a one-sentence message, which he was instructed to repeat verbatim: 'We've added a bonus package for your command, guaranteed to set your hair on fire.' Of course, Cain wasn't able to interpret the cryptic statement, and obviously, never met with the Admiral later."

"I don't see how you made the leap from that log entry to determining a new weapon was aboard!" Dee couldn't piece it all together, and she just wanted to be able to get to her rack.

"Gods, D—Lieutenant, allow me to finish." Apollo stared at her coldly; he didn't realize how little sleep she'd been getting, and he saw her outburst as overtly undermining him.

"First, I knew something Cain wouldn't have had on her radar—Admiral Petersen was the Board sponsor for the electromagnetic pulse weapon project. He was on that short list of officers fully involved in all phases. Second, the wording of the message—'hair on fire'—it was a crude slang term we used aboard the Eos to describe the weapon's effects. It took me a while to remember that, but when I did, I knew there was a chance…

"It was a leap, admittedly—wishful thinking, even—to decide to go poking around in the engine room, see if the Pegasus had been chosen as one of the trial battlestars. I'd seen the equipment, though, and knew what to look for. The timing was about right too—Pegasus had been in dry dock for a week when the Cylons began bombing."

"Would they really have installed a new weapon on a battlestar without advising the Commanding Officer first? And why didn't the Cylon, Gina, discover it? She was involved in the computer systems retrofit; surely she would have seen the plans, or detected the readings." It bothered Helo, the idea no one aboard the ship had a clue of the weapon's existence. It didn't seem plausible to him.

"If the retrofit had been completed, I'm sure the Cylon would have detected it, Helo. However, based on what Shaw shared with me…before her death…they never finished—that's why they were able to break away from the dock and make the FTL jump during the initial battle. It makes sense Admiral Petersen had asked to see Cain in two days—the retrofit was to be completed in 72 hours, and he'd need to explain the situation to Cain before she found out on her own."

"But if you located the equipment—why wouldn't anyone else have noticed something?"

Kat finally piped in. "It's well-hidden, Helo—believe me. In the engine room, there's no way to easily find the panel, let alone open it, and the other conduits are cleverly tucked behind the main wires."

"You've seen it already?" Racetrack was startled by the admission.

"Yes—the Commander needed assistance to test the equipment, so he enlisted me to help."

"Test the equipment—you mean you've already—I can't frakkin' believe you'd take that kind of risk…_Sir_." Helo stopped himself before he was considered insubordinate.

Tigh, who'd been silent throughout, spoke to support Helo. "Commander, if you've tested that thing, with the fleet in close proximity, it's a violation of—"

"Colonel Tigh, don't start tossing regs at me, or so help me, I'll remind you of a few you've been breaking on a regular basis." Lee's tone was even and strong; he was in his element now, and not afraid to call Tigh out. In response, Tigh waved Lee off, turning his face away in disgust, but saying nothing more.

"Obviously, we didn't 'test' the weapon fully—we just verified the main components are working, at least in terms of start-up and shut-down. I needed to know…there was no point in revealing everything unless this was a viable option for our overall battle plan."

"So, it works…what does that mean for us?" Racetrack wondered how the discovery changed things.

"It means we have a way to take out multiple basestars. Given the unknowns—there's no way to 'practice' with the weapon, and I can't know how the variables might have changed, in terms of the time needed to power up each component or the square-mile reach of the pulse—I think we keep it as our last line of defense. We don't build our battle strategy around this—we stick with the tactics and sequence already developed. This is our 'ace in the hole'—a way to ensure the fleet can escape, if our plan to jam the Cylon frequencies fails and additional basestars jump into New Caprica's orbit."

"Commander, even if we can't 'practice,' we need to be able to prep our pilots. They have to know about the 'no-fly' coordinates, and understand the consequences of being caught in the pulse." It was Helo; Lee could read the taut discomfort telegraphed by his stiff back and set jaw. _I'll have to talk him off the ledge_, Lee thought resignedly.

Glancing at the others in the room, he realized most in the group—with the exception of Kat—were also apprehensive and troubled. _ They need reassurance, more confidence in how this plays out…_

"It's a lot to take in, I realize. I've had…a long time to process the existence of this technology and reflect on…the risks and consequences. We're at war and we should be grateful our military had enough foresight to build something this powerful, to use when we need it most. What's singularly important—rescuing our people from New Caprica—means we have to be ready to deploy whatever's at our disposal to succeed."

Tigh decided it was vital to vocally and definitively support Lee at this point; the Old Man would want to know Saul had respected Apollo's leadership. Tigh also realized the significance of Lee's willingness to use this weapon, the depth of his commitment to the mission ahead. While Tigh's information was sketchy, it was still greater than that of the others—Bill had confided a few of the details to him at the time of Lee's injury and return to Caprica. "Harrowing" _was_ the best word to describe what the young man went through.

Usually, when Saul thought about that time period—Lee's tour of duty on the Eos—he focused on Bill's experience of events. That twelve-month space—Lee's memorial, confirmation of his rescue, then his nearly fatal injury, and finally Zak's tragic death—the weight of the sorrow splintered Bill's spirit. Saul spent all of his free time with Bill that year, trying to keep him from the abyss of a breakdown, knowing he owed the Old Man that much. It was a sacrifice—the distance with Ellen grew into a chasm over those months—and he was pretty sure she started having affairs as a reaction to his "male affair," as Ellen referred to his relationship with Bill. But Tigh always believed the outcome was worth the pain, because Bill stayed on his feet, kept his wits about him, and held onto his command post on Galactica.

In this moment, Saul reflected on what Lee's perspective must have been over the same span of time. His character was also nearly broken, and even though Saul rarely acknowledged the fact, he understood, deep down, the mission had cost Lee a great deal. The psychic wounds—'holes with air passing through them'—most had developed through the Eos tour of duty. Apollo had never discussed the specifics, but Bill managed to wrangle some key pieces of information out of his military leadership connections.

Bill learned about the weapon prototype—not what it did or how it worked, but at least that it existed and that it was an imposing technology. He also found out Lee had observed, first-hand, the primary and collateral damage, and later expressed concerns over wide-spread implementation because of "friendly fire" incidents. Adama never pushed Lee for details; he understood, however, his son's internal conflicts regarding the weapon haunted him, to the point Lee was considering resignation from the military.

For Adama, that was unacceptable. A military leader understood the imperative—triumph over the enemy—and supported development of the tools ensuring success, as long as the actions taken remained in accordance with the code of conduct. Bill pressured his eldest son to reconsider, and Lee seemed to waver under his father's continued admonitions…until Zak died. After that loss, Lee fell off a psychic ledge, and no outstretched hand could break the fall or stop the downward momentum.

For the two years afterward, Apollo concentrated on becoming a test pilot, avoiding any command assignments. He took significant risks as an aviator; too many, his father thought. Outside of the cockpit, though, Lee kept human contact to a minimum. He went through the motions: dinners with his mother, occasional appearances at military functions, an annual camping trip with his roommate from his Academy days. He refused to see his father, however, and never set foot on the Galactica until the day the worlds ended.

To Tigh, who watched as the pain of the rift deepened for his friend, Lee's rejection was misplaced and immature. There had already been enough anguish and recrimination passed around; Lee should have been able to see Bill needed him, longed for the company of his surviving son. Saul built up resentment for Apollo as time wore on, angry at a son who seemed to think of no one else, who failed to appreciate the dignity, stature, and skilled leadership of the man, William Adama.

Shortly before Galactica's decommissioning, Adama shared with Tigh his son had drafted the papers to resign his military commission altogether—apparently, even test pilot adrenaline jolts couldn't rouse Lee from his despondency any longer. A bureaucratic glitch led to the strange circumstance where Apollo actually remained on the active duty roster that fateful week. He was ordered to fly in the decommissioning ceremony itself, a task Lee made clear he was completing only under duress. More selfishness, in Tigh's view; he was barely able to look the man in the eye when Lee first boarded Galactica after the attacks.

Little over the ensuing two years substantively altered Tigh's perspective regarding Bill's son. He continued to see Lee as self-absorbed and self-righteous. However, over the past three months—with a sense of purpose and out of his father's shadow—Apollo had truly taken command, demonstrating out-of-the-box thinking, determination, and the energy to boost troop morale. His battle strategies were strong, even genius at certain points. Lee Adama had finally earned Tigh's begrudging respect; it was time to acknowledge that fact more openly. Tigh stood up, wrists crossed behind his back, and addressed the individuals in the room.

"I agree with the Commander's assessment; the power of this weapon is a clear advantage, and we need to be prepared to use it. I happen to know—" he inhaled, looking at Apollo before continuing. "I know Commander Adama has carefully considered the implications of this weapon, over a long period of time. We all know Apollo here is a stickler for principle, and he hasn't…he overcame a lot of his own reluctance to recommend this now. I, for one, plan to follow his lead."

Saul looked over to see Apollo's eyes widen in surprise. Lee then bowed his head slightly, as a sign of deference and thanks; Tigh did the same. A shared understanding took root in that exchange; no matter how events proceeded over the next few weeks, Apollo could take comfort knowing he had Tigh's backing.

Kat added her verbal assent; Racetrack, Helo, and Dee nodded silently. Lee clenched his fists for a moment, anxiety pooling in his gut; he'd won their agreement, and he'd have to accept the consequences for taking this path. It would take a lot of precise design, working with Tigh and Helo, to avoid the tragedies of the past. "We'll begin mapping out guidelines for use and safety procedures, starting tomorrow. Please return to your stations; dismissed."

Dee, Racetrack, and Tigh left quickly, ready to return to Galactica. Karl and Kat lingered. Lee realized he would have to choose who would stay; he might have time for one follow-up conversation, if he still hoped to hit the rack with six hours to spare.

"Kat, I'll catch up with you later; let's meet in the gym at 0700 tomorrow." Her eyes flickered with concern, and she stood still a moment longer. Knowing he owed Kat a great deal, and wishing he could acknowledge his personal needs right now, Lee closed his eyes briefly, fingers raking across his scalp. He opened his eyes to see Kat with her hand on the hatch. "Kat—wait."

Apollo was aware Helo was watching their interactions with interest. _He'll just have to wonder_. Luanne turned around to face Lee, uncertainty lingering in the creases of her face. Putting one hand around her waist, Apollo leaned in, whispering.

"Thank you, Luanne, for trusting me. I wish we could…I wish there was more time right now. I'll tell you the rest of the story…I want to. I _need_ to. But at the moment…"

Kat pulled back slightly, to look into Lee's eyes and let him see she understood. "Gym…tomorrow." She swiveled to release the hatch and put more physical space between them, then acknowledged both men and left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee looked at the chrono on the wall before gesturing to Helo to sit again. He could feel the man's questions about Kat burning the air, but ignored them for the time being; he couldn't be faulted for keeping his own counsel.

"You wanted to talk about the weapon a bit more, I'm guessing." Apollo hoped to direct the conversation and keep it tight, so he could rest; exhaustion was creeping deep into his muscles. Just acknowledging how tired he was led to yawning.

"Gods, you must be beat. I'll keep this short." Helo was perceptive enough to realize his questions about Kat—and the prophecy and Lee's state of mind regarding Kara—they'd all have to wait. He had to admit, though, it was becoming unnerving, searching for the right moment to have a personal conversation with Apollo. Karl rarely let his curiosity get the better of him, but he had a nagging feeling there might be more significance to Lee's experience with the Priestess than the man would consciously acknowledge.

Without warning, an eerie chill gripped Helo in that moment; the voice of a little girl abruptly filled his mind, drowning out all other sounds. _"You are prompted by the Lords of Kobol to help Apollo interpret the prophecy. Do not fail. It's time."_

"Helo? Helo! Karl—are you alright?" Karl felt the room return to normal as he became aware of Lee's presence sitting next to him, touching his shoulder.

"Huh? I…sorry. I was…I'm just a little..umm..."

Clearly concerned, Lee stood up to pour some water, which he handed to Helo. "Maybe you need the rest more than I do…frak, you're so pale! I want to call Dr. Cottle to check you out."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm doing just fine, Apollo. It was probably a drop in blood sugar…I haven't eaten in ten hours."

"Well, that's not exactly a brilliant course of action, is it? Look, maybe we should talk tomorrow about the details to finalize our strategy. Nothing's likely to dramatically change over the next few hours, and we both need to take care of some more basic needs at the moment."

Reluctantly, Helo agreed. He wasn't sure what had happened a few minutes ago and he wanted to think about it before he tackled more practical considerations.

"We've got a 1700 briefing tomorrow, Lee—let's just pick up things then."

"Absolutely. I wish I could focus more right now, but—"

"We could both use a break."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as Helo left, Lee picked up the com. He dialed the CAG's office; no answer. Frak. Did he dare go to the officer's quarters? He was still tired, but he realized he wanted Kat, wanted to run his hands over her skin, lose himself in physical sensations, melt away the enormity of the last 24 hours. Judging by the look on her face before she left the meeting earlier, Lee thought she was in the same place, feeling the same hunger. He had to find her…

The buzz of the com interrupted his thoughts. _It's her—has to be_. He picked up the receiver, and smiled when he heard her voice.

"I was just getting ready to track you down."

"Helo's gone?"

"Uh-huh. We both realized we were exhausted."

"Oh…I was hoping—"

"You don't have to hope—we're of the same mind, trust me."

"Gods…I…you can't know how much I want you right now."

"Yeah, I have an idea. Get here soon, Kat—please."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He pulled her to him as soon as she made it in the room, his hands reaching for her face, lips feverish along her neck. With a contented sigh, Lee slipped his tongue into her hot mouth and let his body take over.

For the next two hours, they communicated how much they'd missed this give and take, expressing the sexual drivenness of their natures. Sated at last, the tensions drained away, Lee pulled Kat as close to him as possible, her head tucked under his chin. His heart felt a pull as he realized, other than Kara, he'd never had so much he'd been able to share with a woman. Kissing her hair, Lee squeezed Kat tighter and closed his eyes, knowing he'd sleep peacefully, despite everything looming tomorrow.

Seven hours later, Lee was a little surprised to wake up alone. A bad memory flooded back, and he clenched his jaw; _this isn't the same thing, Apollo—get a hold of yourself_. He was relieved to see a note scrawled on the desk.

"_Had to meet with Racetrack and pilots. Will be there for more of more tonight. _

_P.S. Rest of story can wait—no need to break all of your talking records at once."_

Lee smiled. Somehow she knew…He needed to keep his head in the present right now. The past—_that_ past—better to leave the ghosts alone. For all the inner demons he'd vanquished over the past three months, there was still one…the one he didn't know how to face, never had. It started with a death, and ended with a death, with the most magnificent breath of life in between. Yeah, that was a story that could wait—should wait—would always be waiting to be told.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Cylon Basestar, The Lorien, Ten Weeks After Occupation**

Tom and Felix were sitting at the conference table with the Cylon Cabinet when it happened. An alarm sounded; the Cylons immediately stood up. Two of them walked over to a long, narrow table-like structure with a channel down the center and placed their hands into the wide groove.

D'Anna spoke to the room. "There's been a wide-scale attack on ground—hits to the detention center, headquarters, and the centurion warehouses."

"Results?" Doral asked coolly.

"Incomplete data. It appears a third of the centurion forces were destroyed; ten Cylon deaths reported so far, but a substantial number of fatalities are likely. The North wing of the detention center is no longer functional; we've also lost use of the West tower at headquarters. The two special prisoners are still with us; Leoben had them together in a different room at the time of the breach."

Caprica studied the faces of the humans in the room, gauging pupil dilation, heart rate, breathing. She detected increased pulse rates, but the anxiety was to be expected; it didn't necessarily indicate culpability.

"Assessment of goal?" she asked, turning towards D'Anna.

"Probably more than one target, Caprica. It's clear, though, the resistance fighters' primary intent was the rescue of Laura Roslin and Kara Thrace."

Doral stepped outside the entrance to the room, for a moment, and returned with two centurions. "Take the humans to the cells immediately."

Caprica held up her arm. "I object—they've been with us, Doral. They couldn't have led the fight."

"Don't be coy, Caprica. You know full well they might have—and probably did—play instrumental roles in this plot."

"I don't know that yet, and neither do you. Are there facts to substantiate—"

"It's been confirmed the resistance knew exactly where to look in the detention center, and took the most direct routes of ingress and egress. How do you suppose they were so accurate, unless they had help?"

"Enough!" Cavil growled. "I concur with Doral. Caprica, you would be wise to step back. If you continue this line of argument, I'm going to launch an investigation into your activities as well. You've certainly shown enough attachment to the humans to warrant suspicion."

"How dare you—"

The Cylon put up his hands in protest, as if to say "don't shoot the messenger."

D'Anna spoke. "I concur with Doral as well; Caprica, we must follow protocols. They exist to protect _all_ of us."

"Fine. But extreme physical…interrogation is not to be used unless there's concrete evidence of Zarek and/or Gaeta's involvement."

Doral signaled his agreement, as did the rest of the Cabinet. He then motioned to the centurions to leave the room; Tom and Felix were prodded forward, and the room was silent until after their departure.

Simon finally spoke. "We need to respond aggressively to this incursion. The humans refuse to acknowledge our positive actions and our magnanimity. The only way to curb their insolence is to make the consequences harsh enough to quell their lust for violence."

"I couldn't agree more," Cavil said, as he slapped the table for emphasis.

Caprica nodded, though her reluctance was telegraphed in her saddened expression.

"I propose we make a definitive gesture. If I remember my readings of Colonial history correctly, when humans were convicted of heinous crimes, they would be publicly executed, to serve as an example for the others of the consequences for disobedience." D'Anna leaned further over the table, warming to the idea even as she uttered the words.

"If we're going to shoot a large number of them to death, we might as well simply exterminate them altogether and be done with this wretched experiment," Cavil said with disgust, waving his hand and leaning far back into the chair.

Caprica flinched, as did Boomer; D'Anna pressed her palm in a downward motion to signal they should remain calm. "Mass execution won't teach them a lesson; we'd just be fueling the rage. They'd believe there was nothing left to lose, assume we intended to destroy them. No, what I had in mind was something targeted—a direct link between cause and effect. We have a public hanging—the person who masterminded the most recent attack, and a Priestess. It will capture their full attention."

"To what end, D'Anna? How will that be any less incendiary?" Boomer shook her head in disbelief.

Simon elaborated. "We demonstrate we're still committed to the goal of coexistence, but we underscore we won't tolerate terrorism. And the historical significance of the public hanging won't be lost on the Colonials; they know they've done the same."

"You're seriously thinking of going through with this idea? It's barbaric!" Caprica crossed her arms and turned away from the table in frustration and anger.

"Your continued reluctance to take the humans to task is…curious. Your model is known for ruthlessness—how can you lack the spine to follow through on appropriate punishment?" The sneer in Cavil's voice was clear.

Caprica spun back around. "The Sixes have been—and remain—committed to the aims of the Cylon race. I agree there should be a punishment, and it must be significant. I simply question the motives behind the recommendations made so far. Surely superior beings have no need for something as petty as revenge."

Boomer looked intently at Caprica, and then at Doral, Simon, D'Anna, Leoben, and Cavil. "I suspect Caprica's question is the right one—"

Caprica gestured her arm out to Boomer, emphatically raising it as she nodded her head to acknowledge the support.

"—I'm not finished." Boomer locked eyes with Caprica, her forehead creased with tension and focus. "There may be some element of retribution inherent in this response, but I don't think that's necessarily an unreasonable focus, given what we know—ten Cylons are already dead, and the toll is expected to rise. The loss of the centurions is a substantial blow as well; we won't be able to obtain reinforcements quickly, and the winter has made many of our projects difficult to complete with the labor we already had in place."

Caprica gasped slightly, surprised by Boomer's statements. They didn't fit what she knew about Boomer's true thoughts—unless…_She's maneuvering…trying to warn me about something. The way she's looking at me…she's worried the others are suspecting our motives, concerned they might do something unexpected…_

Doral took advantage of the pause to bring home his own points. "They must understand, Caprica—the coexistence is on our terms. We understand the complexities of the universe at a much deeper level than they can hope to reach on their own; another millennia of evolution wouldn't bring them on par. Given their current level of mental development—a high percentage of their brains are still animalistic—we have to use symbols and language they can easily grasp. The action has to be targeted at their emotional center; they can't manage the logic of more abstract arguments."

Her face pained, Caprica looked towards Boomer, trying to see if she would speak up. The small tilt of Boomer's head downward told Caprica no additional defense would be forthcoming at the moment; Boomer knew something, sensed something that was frightening to her—and she was keeping her thoughts to herself. Caprica tossed up her hands in defeat. "This will blow up in our faces one day—I promise you. It's not in accordance with God's teachings. The final consequences will haunt us, as much as the humans."

"Your dissent is acknowledged. Let's take a vote." Cavil asked for those in favor and opposed; as expected, all but Caprica approved the plan.

"We should return to the surface as soon as possible, to assess the damages first-hand and begin collecting evidence. The President and his Chief of Staff are to remain onboard; our best interrogation tools are located here. Simon, communicate we're ready to launch as soon as we reach the transport bay."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zarek and Gaeta had been placed in separate cell rooms, preventing communication. Tom paced, frantically; he hadn't been imprisoned for a long time, and the memories were overwhelming his senses. He held up one hand, palm level, to see if he was really shaking outwardly as intensely as it felt to him internally; the obvious tremors verified his anxiety was reaching a critical level. _You've got to calm down, Zarek; a rattled mind means rattled lips, and there can be no mistakes. No one else has to suffer. _

Deciding he would be more composed if he stopped pacing, Tom slid to the floor, leaning against the far wall. A thought struck him, and he casually took his jacket off, knowing there were probably cameras in the cell. It took about fifteen minutes for him to slowly navigate to the secret pocket, buried in the back inner lining of the jacket, without any obvious movement; he closed his eyes in relief when he felt the small wooden talisman in his fingers. Fearing discovery if he pulled it out, Tom contented himself with the sensation in his hand, lightly stroking the edge of the object with his thumb.

He tilted his head back and constructed a mental image of painting—the warrior with the shield. Tom found himself compelled to pray, silently, to the gods he had long ago forsaken, hoping against hope he and Gaeta could reach the planet surface again unscathed. Then he prayed for the safety of the settlers and the leadership group, and acknowledged his fervent wish to be able to tell Tory he'd fallen in love with her.

At last, he prayed for Lee Adama and the crews of the battlestars; if Laura's prophecy of rescue didn't come to pass in the very near future, he was convinced the entire settlement would be wiped out, and with it, any long-term viability for the human race. An odd memory from grammar school came to mind: _a sustainable human population in isolation can only be achieved at a size of 50,000 or greater; At 40,000 people, the risk of epidemics or war begin to overpower the predicted rate of expansion; at 30,000 or less, the gene pool becomes too small to ensure sufficient diversity for resistance to new diseases, survival of famine, or propagation through the most fit specimens of the species._

"_Okay, that isn't helping_," he muttered to himself. Readjusting his position against the wall, he shut his eyes again and focused on his breathing. _This used to work, Tom; just concentrate on the in-breath_. He rubbed the talisman, and eventually his mind drifted to the remembered sensation of Tory's lips against his. The awareness of time was lost; eventually, as the adrenaline momentarily ebbed, exhaustion took over, and Zarek slumped to the floor, dragging his coat over his shoulder and torso to keep warm. He slept without dreaming.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jarring clanking against the cell bars shocked Tom into an upright position. With ragged breaths, he raised himself and staggered forward, grabbing his jacket as he struggled to re-orient to his surroundings and the present situation. Caprica stood in front of him, arms clasped behind her back, her face unreadable. He waited, trying to determine what his gut was telling him would happen next.

"You're being returned to New Caprica; I'll accompany you on the transport. You're not permitted to speak, and it's imperative you follow each instruction exactly. Nod if you understand and intend to comply."

Zarek nodded, wondering why he wasn't more afraid in her presence right now. For whatever reason, he didn't sense deception, nor the tension that might imply a worse fate ahead. As she turned to exit, he followed, a centurion taking up the rear. He saw no one as they made their way to the transport bay; he wanted to jump out of his skin, the pressure to speak was so great. _I can't leave without Gaeta; he won't know how to stand up to the torture on his own, and I'm responsible to protect him, after he risked so much for me._

One corridor before the bay entrance, Caprica suddenly jogged to the right. She led Tom into a small room, bare of any furniture or features; Felix was standing in the center. Caprica and the centurion stepped to one corner; she pointed to Gaeta. "Felix Gaeta is remaining aboard our ship, for now. He requested a meeting with you before departure; we decided to grant it."

Tom tried to assess Gaeta's situation. His Chief of Staff seemed placid, though the edges of his eyes revealed underlying anxiety. Tom stepped closer; he had a strange feeling. _Whatever he says, I need to grasp its hidden meaning_.

"Hello, Sir."

"Good to see you, Felix—I've been hoping you were alright."

"Yes, Sir. We…we won't likely talk for a while, and I had a favor to ask."

"Anything, Felix."

"The last time you and I went searching for something that tasted like the_ cum-urio_ tea leaf back on Sagittaron, we ended up with a plant we transported back to Roslin to cultivate. I've actually collected quite few new specimens of plants, and had talked with Baltar about testing these for new medicinal properties we might be able to exploit, or examining them as food sources. With Roslin gone, I'd taken over the care of the plants, and now, I'd like you to assume the responsibility. It may sound small, but I still believe Baltar could discover something important. My favorite was the mittere flower; it transmits a very sweet scent, and seemed to work on faster healing of surface wounds. My notes on it are on my desk; please see that Baltar gets them."

Tom had no idea what Gaeta was saying, superficially or otherwise, and he knew the Cylons would be analyzing the conversation, looking for secret messages. _But they're machines; they aren't as skilled in leaps of insight guided by a sixth sense. I need to respond—gods, there's no time—I need to just get him out of here._

"Of course I'll take care of them, Felix, and be sure Baltar starts working up a few of them. Hopefully you won't be gone long…Caprica, when will Gaeta be able to return?"

It was a dangerous question, and Tom half-expected Caprica to smack him to the floor for his audacity. She tensed, her head up like a snake, ready to strike. "President Zarek, I'm not here to answer questions. You have no privileges. Neither does he. It's time to leave."

_We have no privileges…_the words were ominous. _ If I leave him now, he dies. _His gut lurched wildly as confirmation. _No. No!_

Slowly, Tom faced Caprica. "I don't think I should leave unless Gaeta is coming too. I'm not sure what's going on here, and I insis—"

A fierce pain shot through his neck; Tom's body immediately seized as his right carotid artery was temporarily crushed, cutting off the blood supply. He pitched forward, unconscious, and his head made a sickening sound as it hit the hard floor. Gaeta stood over Zarek, frozen still; the centurion had a weapons "arm" pressing into his temple.

Caprica waved the centurion off. "A wise choice, Mr. Gaeta. I…I'm sorry for what awaits you." She grimaced, perhaps unsettled by her moment of weakness, and ordered the centurion to hoist Tom's body. As she stepped out, Doral was waiting, ready to take Felix back to his cell. He looked at her questioningly as he watched Tom's limp body being carried forward.

"He was non-compliant."

"No surprise. I don't understand why—"

"Save your judgments for Cavil and D'Anna; I'm not listening."

Doral stared straight ahead as the door closed behind him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Tom was jolted awake for the second time in as many hours. Water hit his face, and he sputtered as he fought for alertness. He was seeing double, and a terrible pull in his neck made it difficult to swivel his head. "What the fr…what happened?"

Caprica set the empty bottle down and handed him a towel. "You were about to undo Gaeta's sacrifice on your behalf, so he shut you down."

"I don't…what sacrifice?"

"This is something a mind like yours should be able to process—"

Don't play with me, Caprica. I deserve a little more than that from you."

Her face softened slightly. "I'm not toying with you. It seems, despite your rather infamous past, you found someone to champion you. It's more than Baltar can claim."

Caprica swiftly injected something into Tom's arm. "It's for pain; Felix almost killed you by accident, though he probably doesn't realize that. It would have been a tragic irony."

"Felix…Felix struck me?"

"He had to protect you from yourself. And so do I. We have five minutes before landing, so keep up." She pressed a button on a small device in the palm of her hand.

"That will jam monitoring signals for two minutes." With a painful sigh, she began to share the most essential information Tom would need to navigate through the next few days.

"We found evidence that a detention center blueprint was missing. We also gathered reports both you and Gaeta have been seen walking towards the perimeters of the tent city at odd times, though no one could say they noticed where either of you ended up. Gaeta confessed to planning the resistance attack and providing key intelligence for the attempted rescue. He gave significant details related to the bombings, and explained how the raw materials were obtained. We weren't able to get any accomplice names out of him, though we know others carried out the plan."

"Caprica…you can't let—"

"It's over, Tom. Accept that in this very moment, or you'll do something stupid and I can't protect you past this point." She was cold and menacing. Zarek decided not to respond to anything.

"I'm not as easily led as the others, because I don't have the thirst for revenge and acts of brutality. I know that man just laid down his life for you; he isn't the sort to 'mastermind' acts of aggression, but you are. He thought you were the one to save—don't squander your freedom."

"What are they planning—"

The Cylon cut him off. "Pay attention! This is our last meeting alone. I can't afford to be associated with you; even taking this step is likely to raise further suspicion. The cabinet doubts my loyalty, and I cannot abide that. I've ensured you'll make it back to the planet, and if you get into any trouble in the future, I will have no choice but to ensure you have a painful death. Follow orders, keep to a strict, visible schedule, and remember you survive at the pleasure of the Cabinet—that can change at any time." Caprica pressed the device again; Zarek felt the rocking of the ship, signaling atmosphere re-entry.

As soon as the gear touched the ground, Tom hit the buckles to escape towards the hatch. He didn't look back at the Cylon as he stepped out into the shocking cold of night. Zarek ran to get clear of the blast field as the transport immediately lifted off; as soon as the sound faded, he collapsed, sobbing as the icy shards of snow and gravel scraped his face, buried in the ground.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill stood in Laura's tent, his body vibrating with the rush that comes from taking fool-hardy risks. There were sounds outside—people yelling, shots being fired, explosions, scurrying and running, people crying. He knew the resistance mission was fully deployed; he should have been down in The Cellar, waiting for news of the rescue's success. Only he couldn't do it. The waiting had driven him mad—mad with pain, with restlessness, with choking anger.

His mind zig-zagged from thoughts of Lee…was he alive? Would they ever return?—to thoughts of Laura…was she injured? Could they repair their relationship?—to thoughts of the resistance and settlement…would any of them survive in the aftermath? How could he do more to save his people? So much mental churning—he hated himself for the lack of discipline—but the endless weeks in The Cellar had taken their toll on his spirit.

The rage inside kept building, day upon monotonous day; Bill was bitter to be kept below ground and at the same time denied access to the expanse of deep space. He was even more incensed to think about the continued losses and the suffering—sacrifice had always been a part of the commitment to military life, but it had finally reached the point of saturation. He didn't know how much he had left to give—or how much any of them had left.

Somehow, on this day—when he might feel restored—he had to go to her space, be with her symbolically. And he needed to find the thing that would be most important to her—the sheet with the hand-written transcription of the dream/prophecy. He'd asked Tory to search for it, in this tent, several times; she'd never been able to locate the hiding place. Bill was determined he would find success today, and he'd risk Cylon discovery to make it happen. With the commotion throughout the settlement, he thought the odds, ironically, might be in his favor.

Examining the room, Adama imagined Laura moving around, remembered the rhythms of her habits. He let his eyes wander along every inch, trying to piece together clues that would fit the way Laura might perceive her surroundings. Nothing stood out. Then he looked at a small collection of plants in makeshift pots, and thought about how much she loved running her hands through the soil. Bill knew Gaeta had taken care of the plants since Laura's capture; the small electric heater had been moved near them, and despite the harsh elements outside, they were surviving. It meant the soil wouldn't be frozen; if she wanted to hide something in the pots, it was possible to dig it out now.

Starting with the largest container, Adama began sifting through the dirt. In the second one, his fingers detected a soft object; after a bit of twisting, Bill removed a small pouch. Gingerly, he opened it; the neatly folded page rested inside.

Shaking the remaining dirt from the pouch, Bill pulled out the document and set it on her desk. He stroked the paper, feeling the imprinted ridges of the letters formed by the pen. Bill was swept up in the memory of her sitting there, hair lifted from her neck, smelling the natural sweetness of her skin as he kissed her ear.

"I've missed you so much, my love," he whispered in the air. "You bring a warmth to my life I thought I wasn't fated to experience, and I need you. Laura Roslin, I need you. Come home, please; you've got to make it out. I can't go on this way much longer…" he faltered, the emotions too deep for tears and nearly past words.

Screams, close-by, roused Bill from the chair. He quickly slipped the document in the pouch, and tucked it into his shirt. Spying Laura's shawl across the back of the chair, he grabbed that too; every night in The Cellar he'd wished he had something of hers to hold, keep near him. Smells of smoke from outside increased his anxiety and alertness; he was shocked to see some of the tents on fire, nearly two rows over. Wrapping his scarf around most of his face, Adama began trek back, frequently glancing around as he tried to move quickly but remain undetected.

He dreaded returning to that subterranean life. While Bill was grateful there had been a way to keep him safe, he knew he faced, at least for the next six to twenty-four hours, yet another blackout period—nothing left to do but sit and wait, listlessly, hoping someone would appear with Laura and Kara in tow, hoping the resistance leaders avoided major injury. Maya and Hera's presence only served to agitate him, at this point; he was tired of the insipid conversations and endless focus on childcare. He realized Hera was special; he was simply at his wits end dealing with her normal two-year-old behaviors.

Adama also resented having to be the "strong one" every minute of every day—surrounded by a young woman and a child, it was as though he could never let his guard down, never have a moment of weakness or vulnerability. He was constantly "on stage," with no privacy, no space to retreat to and recover. It was all Bill could do not to start screaming at them, sometimes; he wanted to tell Maya to work out her own salvation, handle her anxiety and leave him to his lick his own wounds. Adama could barely manage himself these days, and he sure as hell didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's sanity.

With resignation, Bill re-entered to The Cellar. He wanted to be excited for Laura's return, but he could only see endless hours of tension in front of him. As expected, Maya rushed up to Bill at the bottom of the stairs, a beseeching look on her face; despite his words earlier, explaining he wouldn't be able to assess anything while above ground, she persisted in the notion he would "have answers." Skin crawling, Adama brushed past her, teeth clenched in disgust.

"Maya, I told you we wouldn't know anything for hours. By the gods, sit the frak down and manage yourself!" He refused to look at her.

A few seconds later, he sat in the communications room. The document was spread out in front of him; a paper and pen were at his right, along with a book. It was Laura's copy of the Scrolls of Pythia. For the next several hours, William Adama did something he'd never imagined—he began an analysis of the religious prophecy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours later, as the trap door lifted and Bill could hear the sounds of the footsteps, his heart sank. There were too few, which meant the rescue was unsuccessful or someone was dead. He observed the unfolding scene—Sharon and Tory had arrived, but no one else was with them. The contorted look on Sharon's face suggested she was wounded; Bill rushed up quickly to help guide her to a cot.

Sharon met his eyes—_I'm sorry_. His own, to her—_I understand. At least you're safe._

The room was silent, save for Hera's crying; the little girl could tell her mother was hurt, and the sadness in the room overwhelmed her.

Bill and Tory removed Sharon's clothes, examining the severity of the injury. Adama gave her an injection of morpha and tried to help her drink some water, while Tory bandaged the area as best she could. It was a large wound, probably inflicted by a centurion, judging from the burns and extent of the tissue damage. Infection would be a significant concern. Adama reached for the antibiotics shot and administered that as well. He could tell Sharon had lost a fair amount of blood during the journey back, and he wished they had blood supplies, a way of typing and providing transfusions. Realizing they actually had the kit from the raptor, Bill retrieved it and pulled out a synthetic plasma pack. There was only one; it wouldn't work as well as a transfusion, but it could probably relieve the stress on her system. He set up the needle and gently worked the pack to start the fluids flowing. He went on to connect the saline pack too.

Knowing the next danger would be shock setting in, Adama told Tory to grab four or five blankets. They dressed Sharon in a double layer of sweats and covered her completely, then moved the cot next to one of the space heaters. Grabbing a few makeshift pillows, Bill raised her legs, trying to insure her blood pressure would stabilize. Sharon stirred and began struggling to speak.

"Not now, soldier; you've got to focus on taking care of yourself." Bill leaned over to lightly kiss her cheek.

"They'd …moved them, Sir. Still alive…in the center. Other teams…successful…but… casualties. Sam okay. Tyrol okay. Big…damages…"

Bill nodded. "Debrief over, Lieutenant…rest, Sharon. Please."

Convinced she was drifting into unconsciousness, Adama stood up, now trying to see if Tory was hurt.

"I'm fine, Admiral. The reports are incomplete, at best, but I gathered as many updates as I could on the way here. I know…the rescue mission itself was not successful, but the damage to the detention center should put them back quite a bit. We were able to help some of the prisoners escape, though we won't be able to hide them well; there were…I saw a lot of injuries.

"The headquarters attack knocked out the West tower; we didn't think there was much damage, at first, but it appears a significant number of Cylons were injured or killed—I heard that right before we reached the edge of the city. The warehouses were all destroyed; that's probably our biggest success, in terms of resistance efforts."

"What about the other teams, _Galactica_ and _Viper_? Were we able to get the ships equipped and recover the launch keys?"

"Yes. The _Galactica_ team was able to check out and supply 60 of the grounded ships—better than we'd hoped for. The _Viper _team infiltrated the section below the East tower at headquarters while all of the attention was focused on the West tower; the camera control room was in the West tower, as expected, so they exchanged the replicas without detection."

"Are they certain they left no clues, nothing to tip off—"

"Obviously, there's always the risk, Sir. According to Tyrol, the process was clean."

"So we achieved every core objective…save one."

"I'm…they were at least able to confirm Laura and Kara are alive. That means something."

"It does, Tory. I'm just so worried about—"

Tory moved close to the Admiral, touching his arm. "There's nothing that reduces the pain…I know that…they're both strong, Sir. They've survived, and we can try again to get them out."

Bill took Tory's hand in both of his own, realizing she probably needed reassurance as much as anyone. "He's strong too, Tory—Tom will make it back."

"Sir, I don't—it isn't—"

"Tory, don't feel you have to keep something like that hidden away. I did, and it…there are few avenues for happiness left to us anymore. Love is one, and we should take full advantage of it."

Tears spilled down her face. "I'm so afraid for him, Sir. I don't give a frak about 'tactical advantage'—it was the worst decision, to launch this mission when he's up on that basestar."

Adama lightly brushed the tears from Tory's cheek. "It seems that way, I know, but trust me—he and Gaeta were safer if they weren't near the attacks. His best chance is to seem to be as removed from the resistance as possible…especially given his history. This strategy protected him, and with a little more luck on our side, Tom and Felix will both return soon."

Realizing he needed to check on Sharon again, Bill moved to her side. She wasn't shivering, and her breathing sounded fairly normal; these were good signs he'd reversed the trauma shock. The plasma pack was almost done; Adama knew he had at least one more saline pack he could use, if needed.

"I'd better get back. A lot of settlers were injured; I told Ellen I'd come to the medics tents to help. We need to gather up whatever meds and food supplies we can spare from here, but let's keep 50 in reserve—we'll need it for the rescue."

Silently, Bill helped Tory collect the articles. He gave her a quick hug before she headed up the steps.

"I'll take care of Sharon and the others. Tell Sam…tell him to be smart about it and come here if he thinks he'll be picked up. I know we don't want centurions crawling all over the area searching for our hiding place, but we can't afford to lose anyone else. Same goes for Galen and his family…Tom, Gaeta, and you…we have to hold on, have to survive. Lee…he's going to come—we have to believe that."

"I'll tell them, Sir. No one may be able to…"

"Yeah. We're on our own for a while again."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Thirteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Racetrack and Kat were inspecting the newly built vipers, physically examining the under-carriages, testing controls, reviewing stress and torsion test results. Glistening with sweat from repeated twisting and sliding in tight places, the women worked relentlessly. They had three weeks left to finish. Finish the ships…finish the battle plans…finish the training runs. Finish. Which was a different thing from being ready…because "ready" meant "prepared." It meant "anticipated all risks." It meant…ready for an all-out war played for keeps. Neither CAG was comfortable signing off on that inspection yet.

"Okay. I'm finished with my list. Got any left you want me to take over?" Kat rolled out from under Viper PG198.

"No, I'm good—this is my last one too. Why don't you start assigning pilots to this grouping, so the knuckledraggers can paint the names during next shift?"

"Great idea. It's 1100…we have 45 minutes to get cleaned up and get in our birds for the flight exercises."

"Cleaned up? You really gonna bother with that? We'll just get sweaty all over again—"

"Yeah, I know, but it makes me feel prepared."

"Well, then write fast—and it'd better be legible! You know it's bad luck if the pilot's name or call sign is mis-spelled."

"Sir, yes Sir," Kat said sarcastically.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At 1145, on the mark, the CAGs were in their vipers, completing final cross-checks. Kat kicked things off.

"Okay, nuggets. Yesterday, you frakked up the raptor defense scenario when there were raptors coming off the planet and coming off Galactica in mid-looping. Since we know that's a PRIMARY run—gonna happen, guaranteed—there can't be any frak-ups. There are exactly 21 days—to get your heads fully into this game. You wanna get your ass blown off, I don't frakkin' care, but the people in those raptors and transports do. They care a great deal, because they aren't willing to give it up—they want their asses to survive. So we're gonna chose practice over sleep, practice over eating, practice over having any other life. This _is_ your life—right here in this cockpit. Make it worth something."

Kat broke right, and began the drill. Racetrack followed, beginning the second group run. One hundred twenty-five birds in the air, twenty raptors, refueling tankers at the ready. After four hours in space, the CAGs were given four hours of down-time. Then they'd do it all over again with the next hundred twenty-five. Knuckledraggers had to take care of the vipers that would be flown twice that day, which included the vipers for the continuing CAPs.

At the end of the second group training, around 1800 hours normally, Racetrack and Kat would meet up, discuss the day's results, and plot out the exercises for the next round. Then they'd try to catch up on other work before hitting the rack, only to repeat the whole process again, seven hours later. Whenever possible, the two tried to carve out some time in the morning to use the gym; they'd forgotten the days of playing triad or getting drunk. The CAGs talked, sometimes, about the fact they hadn't missed the down-time much; after a year of nothing but down-time, it almost seemed like this was the reward and the previous life was the punishment.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Lieutenant Dualla studied the dradis, pacing as she listened to the mixed chatter. It had proven quite difficult, at first, to sort out the groups, determine who was in trouble, maneuver refueling tankers through the maze, track the raptors departing and landing, ensure the transports carrying civilians were "routed" to the right ships, and see that the supply transports made it aboard one of the battlestars. She'd mastered the whirlwind over the past months, even discovered she had a talent for the ops position.

Tigh observed the session as well, studying the dradis and the boards to determine if pilots were missing positions. He also tracked fuel stats, by viper/raptor, to relay to Dualla for refueling, and marked successful "drops" of supplies. He'd worked out a system for tracking the "round-trip" raptors too; Helo was impressed with it, and they'd developed a method for joint updates in real-time.

Helo's voice was in Saul's ear. "The nuggets are still missing the frakkin' fuel-ups. Worse, two almost crashed as the bellied up to the tanker—don't they understand what could happen?"

"I was more worried about the frakwit who pulled his team across the wrong vector—if this had been the real thing, he'd have ended up firing on the transports heading for the inner fleet ships. Is the Commander on deck?"

"Yeah. He's doing that 'hand over mouth' thing…going on thirty minutes."

"He has to stifle the screams somehow." Both XOs laughed darkly at that.

"Supply landings are increasing, though, and the 'people' transports are making it to the fleet ships within the set times…"

"You and your frakkin' 'positive outlook." Tigh snorted another laugh.

"Admit it, Colonel—we are making progress. It's a hell of a complex operation. Even the Admiral would say—"

"He'd say 'sometimes you've gotta roll the hard-six.' "

"Well, right..."

"Still haven't figured it out, have ya—the meaning?"

"Nope."

"So, I'll tell you the secret…once we make the final jump from that miserable place."

"You know I'll be on the horn as soon as the FTL spools…"

"I'm counting on it, Lieutenant. Counting on it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The RSG met twelve hours later, on Galactica. Video footage was reviewed, with adjustments made to tactics, practices, and timing. Apollo led the discussion—coaching, praising, and chastising, as warranted. Gone were the hesitant pauses and self-deprecating remarks of the past. He was in full control, with a recall of details that frequently astonished Helo. But there was more to it; Tigh could tell, as he watched the younger Adama's body language, the Commander was drawing on his instincts more often. His unconscious signals were so similar to the Old Man's, the DNA linkage was unmistakable. When the Admiral made it back, Saul promised himself he would tell his friend about each milestone in his son's transformation.

"Major Parker, please report on the status of our current supplies and preparations for supply needs after reintegration."

"Our present inventory is in good shape. The scheduling models I've developed are working well; we've managed to eliminate over 20 of the previously scheduled daily runs while shortening others, for a savings of more than 140,000 gallons of fuel per four-week cycle. The water conservation initiative has also borne fruit—83,000 gallons saved per day. The food stuffs are holding steady; I'm hoping, if we're able to complete the planned reclamation efforts on New Caprica, we'll be able to gather enough plant material to attempt hydroponics gardens on some of the ships in the future. It's essential, if we expect any population expansion, to find a way to create additional food we can store."

"Excellent work, Major. Talk to us about the transports—have you determined a structured process for 'what goes where' when we bring it back from the planet?"

"Yes, Sir. 'Living quarters' material—bedding, furniture, clothes, etc.—we'll store and re-distribute from Galactica. Larger items—equipment, tents, tools—those will be brought aboard Pegasus."

"What about temporary quarters—there's no guarantee we'll have time to move settlers to other ships…"

"Since the items most needed will be on the Galactica, it makes more sense to set up the temporary quarters there."

"Captain Larsen—have you and the other civilian captains assessed how many you can take aboard each vessel?"

"We have; the final numbers were submitted to Major Parker a few days ago."

"Major, I know it's a huge guess, but have you been able to work out how many grounded "livable" ships we need to ensure every Colonial has some sort of space to claim, at least for a cot and a trunk?"

"Without knowing the number of …remaining settlers…I assumed a—" Major Parker faltered.

"There would have to be civilian losses, Major. Everyone here understands that." Lee said it softly; after so much effort and yearning, it would be hard to accept the settlement group might have dwindled significantly.

"Thank you, Sir. I've estimated a 10 reduction overall, and allocated people and supplies accordingly. Of the original number of grounded vessels—according to the original records—we'll need 85 of them—approximately 40—to make it off the planet and provide sufficient livable space for the fleet."

"Your extraordinary efforts are recognized by a grateful fleet—we are in your debt."

"Thank you, Sir." The Major was clearly pleased to be acknowledged publicly for his work; certainly, in ordinary times, he'd have been considered invisible in the military.

Helo tried to mask a yawn as he listened to the proceedings. It was important information, and normally he could focus on the details, but today, he was off-kilter. Truthfully, Helo had felt out-of-sorts ever since he heard that voice in his head the other night, in Lee's quarters. He couldn't come up with a good explanation for what had happened; even when he was dead tired, he'd never had a hallucination or a waking dream blurring with real events. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but he wasn't sure who would be open enough to listen without thinking he was crazy.

"Helo—Lieutenant Agathon?" Karl snapped back to the conversation.

"My apologies, Sir. What was the question?"

"I…wanted to verify you didn't have any additional questions for Major Parker before we moved on."

"Ah…no. No, Sir. Thank you, Sir." To Helo's relief, Lee let it drop, turning instead to the next speaker.

"Captain Larsen—how are the training exercises going, from the perspective of your group?"

"As we reviewed earlier, there's still a fair amount of confusion, but with the changes we made today, the future runs will go more smoothly. The ships are geared up for our expected 'new' passengers. Obviously, the recruiting for pilots, equipment technicians, and miners has been completed. I've been working with Dr. Cottle to recruit for medics positions; since we don't know the extent of those who'll need medical attention, the captains thought one medic per ship would be a minimum standard."

Dr. Cottle spoke up. "I've got some physician assistants willing to help with the training. We won't have too many supplies to spare, but I've been improvising with the Major here to prepare as best we can.

You should also know, I also worked with Larsen to locate any medical scientists within our current fleet; believe it or not, there was one person, tucked away on the _Morpheus_—a Dr. Paul Anton. On the mining mission if a few weeks ago, he analyzed the surface material and determined two or three mineral compounds we could extract. The project hasn't progressed very far yet, but I'm hoping Dr. Anton will be able to help us mass-produce some basic medications for the fleet. We've depleted our supplies ever since the exodus; it's high time we tried to replenish them somehow."

"A sound strategy—the fleet will benefit immeasurably from your actions." Lee was pleased; even though the preparations had been grueling for over three months, something energizing was taking place. Despite the obstacles, the humans were no longer acting like an animal pack on the run, focused only on what was needed in the next 24 hours. They weren't operating as a full society, but they were at least making progress towards a tribal community again. It was an important step.

Helo was staring at Apollo as he complimented the others, wondering what brought a smile to his face. With a start, Karl immediately realized the room was becoming darker. _This isn't real…what the frak is happening to me? _He shuddered, as a coldness descended over him in that moment, and the voice came again, sounding as though the little girl was talking loudly in his ear. _"Remember--the Chresmologue. It's time—the prophecy must be set in motion. Remember the Chresmologue."_

Helo, with a jolt, returned back into normal time and space. Clutching the leg under the table, Karl tried to will his trembling to subside. Focusing on events in the room again, he sensed Lee's eyes on him.

"Before we close this meeting, I have one more official function to perform. Lieutenants Agathon and Dualla—please step forward." Lee stood up; a junior officer handed two boxes to him, as he and Colonel Tigh walked into the center of the room.

"As Executive Officers of the fleet, you have both demonstrated the qualities of leadership and expertise required of the finest officers in our military. You provide a model for others to follow, through your commitment and actions. As acting Commander of the Fleet, I hereby officially promote you, Karl Agathon, and you, Anastasia Dualla, to the rank of Captain." Lee pinned the wings on Karl, as Saul did the same for Ana.

The two were clearly surprised by the gesture; neither spoke for a moment. Finally, Helo murmured "Thank you, Commander." Dee repeated the sentiment. Lee and Tigh stepped aside to allow others in the room come up and congratulate the officers.

Tigh leaned over to whisper in Apollo's ear. "This was the right thing to do. Your father would approve."

Lee whispered back. "Thanks for bringing up the idea. Are the parties on each ship set up?"

"Ready to go. It'll be good for everyone…they've been pushing hard."

"Just remember to cut it off at 2400 hours; we can't afford to lose any time right now."

"You know, sometimes that stick is still up your—"

"I'd stop there, Colonel, or I might break the stick over your head." Lee smiled as he said it; the two men had finally come to a strange camaraderie. He didn't know if it would last, once the fleet was reunited, but he was pretty certain he'd look back on these exchanges with fondness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Beginning of the Eleventh Week of Occupation**

Roslin awoke with a sharpened sense of awareness. Something was different…_I'm not in pain._ She realized she wasn't cold, either, and it wasn't such a struggle to pull her thoughts together. Propped up on her elbows, she surveyed the room. They were in the same location from the day before—or what she assumed was the previous day. Laura remembered one of the Simon models injecting her with something; he used the word "antidote," which was both alarming and yet somehow a relief at the same time—she'd suspected Leoben was drugging her with a potentially lethal substance. Her health had been deteriorating incrementally, along with her memory.

With a feeling of new energy—small though it might be—Laura managed to pull herself upright. She spied food and water on the nearby table; _amazing the Cylons would provide for basic needs, after all this time…_

A tousle of blond hair caught her attention. _Oh my gods—Kara—how could I have forgotten? _She made her way over to the prone figure, kneeling down beside her. Kara was sleeping on her side; Laura tried to decide if she should wake her. She placed her hand on Kara's arm and rocked her forward slightly. Kara moaned, but her eyes remained closed. Laura shook her gently again. This time, Kara murmured something and turned to look up.

"Mmm…my head is…where am I?"

"We're in another room in the detention center, Kara. Leoben brought us here yesterday. Something big happened, so the Cylons decided to keep us together for now." Roslin studied the pilot's reactions, hoping her drug dosages had been lowered too; the Simon model spent a fair amount of time reviewing Kara's vital signs earlier, and he seemed concerned about her condition, particularly her limited speech patterns.

"Are you hungry? They left some food for us."

Kara nodded; Laura went and brought back what looked like bread and some sort of spread. She also reached for the pitcher of water, pouring cups for both of them.

The women ate quickly; it had been some time since their last meals. Roslin was disappointed to realize Kara was still punchy and disoriented; the few attempts she made at conversation, Kara either looked at her blankly or responded in simple phrases. Nevertheless, Kara's eyes were less glassy, and her motor coordination was improving. Laura could hope for better recovery ahead.

Not long after the meal, Kara muttered she was sleepy, and sank back into her cot. Seconds later, Laura could see her breathing was shallow and slower, but steady. _Best to let her rest; she's got to start recovering, really letting her body heal._

Roslin went over to one couch and propped herself up against the sofa arm, stretching her legs and letting her cast rest on her thigh. It was blissful, this cessation of pain; she realized how much the constant discomfort had been draining her. Leaning into the corner cushions, she sighed with temporary contentment. With everything she'd given up over the past year, and the time in that stark cell, Laura understood pleasure had to be grabbed in even the smallest improvements.

Roslin reflected on the sounds and snatches of conversation she'd picked up both during and after the attempted rescue. Her heart welled, knowing Sam and Sharon had managed to penetrate the interior of the detention center; it was almost inconceivable to reflect on the cruelty of fate that brought her and Kara to a new location precisely on that day. Watching Leoben for some time, however, Roslin knew he had an uncanny sense of things. It wouldn't surprise her to learn the Cylon instinctively moved them—if Cylons could be said to have such a thing as "instinct." A sardonic smile crossed her lips, marveling anew at the conundrum the humanoid Cylons posed. Laura wouldn't have admitted it to another soul, but she internally struggled to explain the philosophical riddles—could a biomechanical organism, programmed to exist, develop a "sixth sense"—and what would it be based on? Why did certain Cylon models appear to take pleasure in the suffering of others? By pure programming logic, there would be no benefit in torture without an end goal; yet she had witnessed Cylons who experienced the same perverse pleasures in inflicting pain as certain humans did.

Which brought her to the uncomfortable mystery of Leoben and his continued obsession with Kara Thrace. Even the other Cylons seemed disquieted by his intensity. Laura had to believe another Cylon model forced Leoben's hand regarding her care—and Kara's—because she could tell her drug dosages had been lowered. In all of the time she'd been forced to deal with Leoben, he really wanted only two things: information about the resistance plans and personal history on Kara Thrace. Roslin hadn't helped him on either count, though she fed him false tidbits and half-truths when she was afraid Leoben might go over the edge and kill her outright. Still, Laura understood the reality, deep down: the Cylon's aim wasn't to take her life, it was to break her soul. He knew things—private, awkward, shameful things—and he wielded his information masterfully, manipulating her into emotional corners of pain and loss. Through the rollercoaster of feeling, Laura tried to focus her inner self on the memories and people the Cylon didn't know about. That approach worked for a long while, but lately, Leoben had been getting through her defenses. She could feel her soul falling into tatters at last; it was a matter of time before she truly just came apart.

With Kara next to her, Laura was finding it hard to hold her recent memories at bay. Thoughts of Bill and Hera and the prophecy were beginning to flood through her. She couldn't look at the woman's face without remembering conversations with Bill, talking about his concerns and hopes for his surrogate daughter, or how anguished Sam had been, fighting through illness to determine how to rescue Kara.

As she stared at her hands in her lap, Laura remembered the warmth of Bill's hand over hers, the way his fingers, appearing rough, were actually so smooth as they feathered over her cheeks. A small breath escaped as she leaned her head back, mouth parting slightly, the sensation of his lips against her pulse almost palpable. Another breath, then a sob, came forth. _ Roslin—stop. There's nothing to be gained here_…but the temptation was too great. Closing her eyes, letting the tears slip into her hair at the temples, she was carried back to that night aboard Galactica, when she and Bill both finally allowed themselves to be genuine. It was the trust that made the difference, Laura realized now, the willingness to give yourself over to another person because in every breath of his intermingling with your own, you could feel the love, the spirit swirling into your lungs, passing through your heart and traveling into every vessel, settling into every inch of your skin.

Roslin wondered how Bill was doing—these long months, forced to remain in what amounted to a large dirt cell, had to be wearing down even Adama's iron resolve. _And Lee…where is Lee?_ Hera had shown Laura, in her previous dreams, there would be a rescue, and end to this particular version of hell. Yet day after day after day, nothing but despair greeted her…or anyone else. _It was time_…a tremendous restlessness stirred within as she thought the words. _Soon. Must be ready. Must be…_

A low wail startled Laura, drew her attention back to the present. Kara was sweating, her legs thrashing the blanket to the floor, and she kept trying to say something, though all Roslin could make out were syllable fragments. There was a plaintiveness in Kara's voice, though, that was unmistakable in its meaning. Laura slipped quickly into her own cot, moving so it touched Kara's. She used her good arm to awkwardly pull the woman to her and provide human contact. Laura could only hope it might quell Kara's nightmare. Wrapping both arms around Kara as best she could, Laura leaned close to the fevered woman's ear.

"Kara—can you hear me? I hope you can hear me. You've suffered so much, and I know I can't absorb it, draw it away from you now, but I…you have to hold on. Please hold on. Commander Adama's coming, and the Admiral and Sam are fighting to secure your freedom too. I can't image the isolation, the loneliness with that…thing. But you've not been forgotten, Kara. You hear me? There are so many people who love you, who'll lay down their lives to save you. The last time I talked to Bill, right before I was captured…his thoughts were about Starbuck, about his daughter, and how happy he'd be to hear her laugh again. So fight, Kara; fight the demons. Just…keep fighting…stay with us."

Laura realized she heard Kara's voice, though it was faint and choked, no air in it at all. She shifted her weight to maneuver her ear over Kara's lips, struggling to make out any words.

"No more…breath…can't breathe…he's gone. Need…Apollo has to breathe…'gain. Gone…can't…"

Laura pulled her closer, stoking her hair. She knew Kara's breathing wasn't labored and her chest wasn't heaving as though she was fighting for air. _What's she trying to tell me? She sounds so destroyed…the way she says his name…but what does the 'breathing' mean?_

Laura flashed back to her own thoughts of Bill from minutes earlier. Realization hit her…Kara was connected that way with Lee Adama—with Apollo. No wonder…the behaviors of both of them, since Kara's marriage to Sam…now she could see the undercurrents. It finally explained the turmoil everyone else had witnessed, the paralysis and withdrawal and anger. Roslin was transported back to the time, early on, when both Adamas were willing to risk the whole fleet to find Starbuck, and pictured the intensity of commitment on Lee's face as he stood in the CIC. _Gods, it was always there…_

"I think I understand, Kara."

Suddenly spent, her burst of energy petering out, Laura shifted her weight several times until she was flat on the cot, Kara still held close. Listening until her breathing matched, Laura allowed herself to slip into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Doral entered the small conference area, clearly aggravated. Leoben was sitting at the table, a smug grin on his face.

"The experiment paid off after all. I told you it would simply take a little more time."

"And a little less medication, perhaps?" Doral remained implacable.

"See for yourself." Leoben started the playback of the room video.

"This means nothing…the audio didn't pick up Laura's whispering."

"Naturally. But the camera was able to capture her face more than 50 of the time, and I had one of the Eights help me in studying her mouthed words. Here's the transcript."

Doral read through the lines. His eyebrow raised as he progressed down the page.

"This would suggest that William Adama is here, on New Caprica, and his son was the one who decided to jump, leave the settlers."

"Exactly."

"Leoben, your methods for obtaining this information are unreliable. It seems unlikely—"

"I disagree. The Admiral might have made an unscheduled trip, so few of the humans would be aware; we simply assumed he was on the battlestar."

"But there've been no rumors, no sightings. It wouldn't be in Adama's nature to hide—he'd want to 'rally the people,' encourage them to fight."

"Which is exactly what they've been doing…"

"There's no clear evidence of a single leader for the resistance, Leoben—you know that. D'Anna suspects it is actually a small group, but we haven't been able to prove that; Gaeta is the closest we've been able to get to them."

"I've never understood this emphasis on 'proof'—we should have rounded up the likely conspirators and eliminated them early on."

"The Cylons have been focused on coexistence, remember? We'd hoped for a better 'relationship' with the Colonials."

"Regardless…the Cabinet needs to see this tape, review the transcript, and decide how to proceed."

"Leoben, what do you hope for with this—a tent-by-tent search? It's already been done, actually, in the past twenty-four hours. I'm confident we would have heard about the capture of William Adama, if he had been hiding among his kind."

"Perhaps there's a location we don't know about yet."

"Once again, Leoben, you don't seem to understand or support the priorities of our people. Final reports reveal over 350 Cylons were killed and had to download. That's unconscionable and tragic. Many Cylons are in mourning, and you're sitting here nursing your obsessions. The public hanging is scheduled for tomorrow; once the humans realize they're being herded together to watch two individuals die for their crimes, our work will become harder. We need you focused on what's happening, not fixating on implied meanings from the mad whisperings of a tortured prisoner."

"I'm bringing it to the Cabinet."

"Your choice, of course. But should your theory have any merit, I suspect we'll find out soon enough. If Admiral Adama is on New Caprica, the hanging of Felix Gaeta will smoke him out of his hiding place."

"An excellent point. Let's make what the humans call 'a wager.' "

Doral crossed his arms over his chest. "Go on."

"If I'm wrong, and there's no evidence found of William Adama's presence on New Caprica in the next four weeks, I'll turn over the two special prisoners to you. If Adama is successfully captured, he becomes my third prisoner to interrogate."

"A chance to end your control over Kara and rehabilitate you from your fixation? I'll be doing the whole Cabinet a favor. I accept the terms of our 'wager.' "

"Done." Leoben smiled. "I predict you'll lose by the third week."

Knowing there was nothing more to gain by feeding into Leoben's smugness, Doral nodded and left to finalize the plans for tomorrow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Steam wafted up from the stinging hot water rushing out of the showerhead. Still sapped of energy, his legs shaking badly, Gauis adjusted the temperature and stepped under the stream. His breath hitched at the unexpected discomfort, the nerves of his skin still sensitive and unpredictable in response, but after a minute, he moaned in contentment as the pleasure of the experience came back. He was aghast to see the broken out patches of skin on his chest, thighs, and arms, but the scientist in him reasoned he could clear up the worst of it with antibiotics and a week of regular hygiene.

It took three rounds of washing before his hair finally felt normal to the touch, and he hoped he could find scissors or another sharp instrument to take the length out. His beard would also have to be trimmed; if he thought his skin could withstand the friction, he'd shave it off, but Gaius shuddered at the thought of raw skin exposed to the extreme cold. Satisfied with his progress, and feeling far better than expected, Baltar shut off the water and grabbed the warm towels nearby.

Brushing the condensation off the mirror, Gaius almost jumped at the image of himself. His eyes were sunken, his skin sallow, and the mass of hair gave him a crazed appearance. _Good gods, man; any human would shrink away from you_.

Rummaging through the cabinet in D'Anna's bathroom, he found a toothbrush, scissors, a razor, and tweezers. It took nearly one-and-a-half hours to shed the visible remnants of his addiction and withdrawal period, but the results were worth it. Gaius certainly didn't look healthy, but at least he could be considered presentable.

Entering his bedroom, Baltar decided it was time to explore the closet and drawers. He'd never looked to see if there were any items stored, and was relieved to find some clothes in his size already hanging inside. Every muscle ached as he gingerly dressed. Finally, a semblance of humanity in his countenance, Baltar felt ready to be seen. Loud rumblings in his stomach drew him to the small kitchen, hoping D'Anna kept something on hand. There were fresh raw vegetables, bread, and something akin to cheese; the nutrients would really make a difference in getting his strength back. Gaius tried to eat slowly, despite the intense hunger pangs, because he realized he didn't remember eating for some time. He figured he must have consumed a few things over the past two weeks, but this was his first clear memory of his mouth watering for food.

Tired from the relative increase in physical activity, Baltar moved to the couch to rest. He would likely fall asleep, but he wanted D'Anna to see him in his improved state when returned to her quarters.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was dark in the room when Gaius roused himself. Fumbling, with no idea where anything was or how it might be turned on, he let his eyes adjust and concentrated on the few objects that seemed somewhat familiar. Finally, he took five steps towards the window, and waved his hand directly in the center of an object on a side table. The area was illuminated; he made his way over to another two similar lights, pleased the room was now bright enough for work. Gaius knew he wasn't allowed to return to the lab yet, but he felt strong enough to make a small start on the background analysis that would form the basis for his research. D'Anna had thought to set up a laptop computer for his use. Though he'd shown no interest in it before now, he knew he could access the DNA/genomics data and libraries to get started from here.

Gaius settled into a chair, a large pitcher of water to one side. He lost track of time as he began scanning the information stored in the Cylon databases. A motivational jolt surged through him as he flexed his mental muscles for the first time in a long while—he was clear-headed, receptive to ideas, and excited by the new world of knowledge opening up to him. The nap had done him a lot of good; he felt steady in his body now, calm and centered.

At first, it was easier to concentrate on learning the Cylon DNA structure and sequences. A cursory review highlighted the many similarities, although that was to be expected. Baltar turned his attention to the sex chromosomes; again, a first analysis revealed nothing of import. Two things, however, puzzled Baltar. The Cylons were physically stronger—they could hit harder, eat less often, run for longer periods, and survive on less sleep. He knew sophisticated programming would allow for more efficient use of every physiological system, but that wouldn't wholly explain the dramatic gaps in performance. More important, there were absolute limits for the basic body structure; if the Cylons were primarily biological throughout their frames—no metal components or reinforcements replacing bones or joints—there would be a point beyond which the body would crumble under the physical forces. If a human's maximum weight-lifting capability, for example, was 1500 pounds before bones shattered, then the same should hold true for a Cylon. Again, programming could allow for adjustments in muscle flexion, cellular ATP production, etc., but it wouldn't give them any advantage past an absolute ceiling.

The second mystery involved the inability of Cylons to mate with other Cylons. Ostensibly, based on the sequences, strands, and proteins, the sex chromosomes appeared identical; there was no logical explanation. Yet, something was different when the combination was human and Cylon. And it wasn't a simple exchange either; the data Baltar found regarding the experiments in "the Farms," as the humans pejoratively referred to them, proved all the attempted human-Cylon cell combinations failed to form zygotes.

Gaius had heard the suppositions from some of the Cylon models that "love" was the missing ingredient. He still laughed at the idea—a machine concluding an abstract construct was the missing piece—but he wondered if there was a physiological explanation, related to the biochemistry of human mating. Did Cylons emit pheromones? Were they able to respond to them? To Baltar, this might be the best area to mine for data first.

As he reflected on his rapidly written notes, Baltar ran his hands through his hair, and removed his glasses to rub some of the tension from his eyes. _ This is all very interesting, Gaius, but really—what will your research accomplish?_ He was about to jot down some additional ideas when he heard the door open and D'Anna entered the room.

Immediately, Gaius could tell her interest was piqued—_the lab rat's taken a different route_.

"Hello, Gaius. You've had…quite a transformation in the past 18 hours." She smiled; it wasn't warm or engaged, but it was a beginning.

"Yes. Thanks to you, I'm starting to feel better. I'm…sorry for the trouble I've put you through."

D'Anna didn't acknowledge the statement; she removed her shoes and sauntered into her kitchen. "I see you found something to eat."

"Yes—I hope I didn't—"

"It's fine, Gaius. I'd stocked a few things for you specifically; I thought you'd discover them when you were ready to start feeling better. Are you feeling better?"

"Much. I could use some antibiotics, though—would you be able to help?"

"I'll bring you over to the medical station tomorrow morning to take care of it."

Unsure what else he could talk about yet, Baltar fell silent. He listened as D'Anna prepared something, moved into her own bedroom for a few minutes, then returned in a comfortable knit set and set some food down on the low table in front of the couch. In another moment, she brought out two cups of coffee.

"I don't know why I like this drink—it leaves a strange after-taste—but it's oddly pleasant, despite that."

"Coffee can be an acquired taste, even for humans. How do you produce it? We could only grow the beans on the humid Tauron."

"Actually, that's still where the beans are harvested. Our radiation recovery efforts have been productive; we had to block off the severely barren areas, but have found some work-arounds to re-create the right conditions for growing. It's progressing well, in certain regions, on three of the Old Worlds."

Gaius took a swig and was truly surprised at how delicious it tasted on his tongue. "I didn't realize…the substitute on Galactica was actually quite nasty. I'd forgotten how wonderful a quality brew can be."

D'Anna's eye caught the stack of notes on the table. She tilted her head. "What are those?"

"Oh…just a start, really…some, um, ideas, about DNA research, that I wanted…I mean, if I can.."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do…do what?"

"That—the stammering. You don't dissemble very well. For a brilliant man, you are rather easily reduced to babbling when nervous."

Gaius opened his mouth to say something, then literally bit his tongue to stop himself. "I'm not sure that type of observation reduces my discomfort, honestly." He smiled after he said the words; she smiled back, this time with a slight twinkle of mirth.

"No…but I wasn't interested in that. I'm more curious to find out _why_ you behave as you do, not alter _what_ you do.

"Well, that's a relief. I'm not considered very 'trainable.'"

"So Caprica told me. Oh, I'll also tell you, I'm not interested in sex with you either…you can save your 'charms'—if that's what they're called."

"I like a woman who gets right to the point." He was feeling anger, something he hadn't tapped into in some time…it was oddly arousing, even as D'Anna was telling him she had no interest. _Then again, if she feels the need to say it…_

"Why don't you try it again."

"I'm sorry—try what?" _Surely she didn't mean he should ply his charms after all…_

"Explaining your—research ideas."

"That. Alright…I see two interesting questions related to as-yet undetected differences between human and Cylon DNA. The first is understanding where your physiological advantages originate—you don't use a metal or other non-biological frame, and yet you're able to defy the absolute physical boundaries humans still contend with. The second is solving the mystery of Cylon procreation—or absence of it, more specifically."

"Hmmmm. Intriguing. What makes you think you'll be able to solve a problem our Cylon scientists haven't?"

"Because I can have leaps of insight the Cylons rarely demonstrate."

"That's quite a brazen statement, Dr. Baltar. Can you back that up?"

"Hoping to study _why_ I have those insights?"

D'Anna actually grinned. "Is that one of them? A brilliant insight, I mean."

Gaius decided a lack of response might be more interesting at this point. He stared at her, feeling a peculiar energy hang in the air.

"I'll take you for the antibiotics tomorrow. If your energy—and appearance—continue to improve, I'll make sure you're back in the lab next week. It's where you belong—I'm eager to see where your mind takes us next."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Thirteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee stepped softly into the Observation Deck. He never knew how many people might be there, or what their emotional states might be; in these days, especially before such an important mission, individuals often came to think or to mourn those already gone. Lee normally avoided this room, since becoming Commander. He found out, early on, the crew would approach him for conversation or counseling if someone saw him by himself. Lee knew it was important to be available, and he often walked the corridors and the mess to make the access easy; when he wanted to be alone, however, the only way to find privacy was to remain in his quarters.

Right now, Lee wanted to see the stars. He missed the hours he used to spend in his viper; lately, as he thought about his father and Kara, he longed to be out there, flying point. It was disorienting, sometimes, feeling he wasn't in the middle of the action…_with Starbuck on my wing_. The familiar pang swept through him, and he struggled again with memories of the nightmare, the overpowering sense of loss and darkness. _You can't think about that, Lee; everything is on schedule. You'll be there in time. _

As he found a comfortable spot for stargazing, he detected a sound. Listening, he realized it was someone trying to muffle sobs. Something about the situation compelled him to find the person, offer some small support. He began moving cautiously between chairs; there appeared to be no one else in the room. Finally, he spotted a figure in the oddly shaped forward section of the deck. As he approached the person, he knew immediately who it was; the height and breadth of the shoulders could only belong to Helo.

Hoping not to startle him too much, Lee whispered his name. Karl looked up, embarrassed to be found crying.

"Hey…don't get up…I just wanted to offer an ear…or a shoulder." Apollo smiled as he took a spot close to his friend. "You don't…we can just sit together, if you want."

Helo looked over. "Thanks. I'm…I didn't want you to see me like this…"

"Gods, Karl. With everything that's going on, it would be strange if you didn't experience some rough moments. I know…I haven't mentioned her—Sharon—very often, but it isn't because I don't realize how painful it must be…worrying about her. I just didn't want to…to make things worse by bringing it up if you didn't—"

"I knew that—and appreciate the respect. Right this moment, though…I think I'd like to…talk." He choked back another sob.

"You got it. Let's go to my quarters—more privacy. I know you had some questions you also wanted answered…we can take as much time as you need."

"I don't think I could talk about the weapon—"

"Those weren't the real questions on your mind, were they? I had a feeling the topics included Kat, Kara, and a visit with a Priestess." Lee stood, offering his hand to help Helo up.

"Are you ready for that much disclosure in one sitting?"

"Test me and find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Seated, ambrosia in hand, Karl opened up first.

"I've been having this weird experience over the past two days. It's spooked me a bit. And then the feelings have been overwhelming—missing Sharon, thinking about…about my daughter."

Lee poured more ambrosia into Karl's glass. "We're going to bring Sharon home, Helo. She's one of the smartest and most skilled soldiers I've ever known; she and the Admiral would know how to survive anything. I've felt…the time pressure too—you don't know how much—but I believe we'll be there in time. We've come too far; it will work. It has to."

Karl was lost in thought. They both downed another glass of liquor.

Finally, Lee worked up the courage to ask a personal question. "Karl…you mentioned Hera…have you and Sharon thought about trying again?"

"Yeah. We've talked about it. I wasn't ready."

Lee raised his eyes in surprise. "I guess I'd suspected—"

"It was the other way around? I'm sure you're not the only one."

"Why?"

"Because that child can never have a normal life. Not that anything is 'normal' anymore, but…there's not enough acceptance and tolerance to ensure a life free from death threats, free from suspicion and ridicule. I don't know if I can bring a child into this world, knowing what I do about the continued small-mindedness of our 'fellow' humans."

"Like me…"

"Lee, I didn't say that."

"But you should. Frak, I still want to call them skin jobs and toasters…and I hate them, Helo. The Cylons."

"So do I, Apollo—they destroyed our worlds, our civilization. But Sharon isn't 'a Cylon'—she's become an independent actor. Free will still applies, even if your brain begins as a chip."

"I…I don't know how all of that comes together, Helo. I wish I did. But I do agree—Sharon is…an individual. Someone who loves and can be loved. I want for you two to be happy—I mean that."

Karl looked directly into Lee's eyes. "Thank you, Apollo." He paused and added "I'm glad we've become friends."

"So am I. Hard to imagine how I'd have made it back without your help and support."

Well, Kat had a lot to do with it too. Maybe more than I realized."

Lee cocked an eyebrow. "Just ask…I know it's been on your mind since the night we met to discuss the weapon."

"Okay..how long has that been going on, the 'thing' between the two of you?" Karl's expression was calm, non-judgmental.

"The 'thing'? It's—it's a relationship, Helo. I initiated it." He waited for Karl to signal his disapproval, and was relieved when he didn't sense that tension. "Almost two months. We've been involved for two months."

This new relationship puzzled Helo. Was it serious? Could the Lee Adama he'd known really fall in love with someone like Kat? It wasn't that Helo didn't like the pilot. He had a lot of respect for her skills, and she'd been a surprisingly strong CAG. She was just--uncomplicated, unsophisticated, not the type to keep a layered personality like Lee's fully engaged.

"I…I don't mean to burden you with this secret, Helo, or put you in an awkward position." Apollo hesitated; what else should he say? It wasn't something that could be condoned…

"Don't misinterpret my silence, Lee. It's really okay—more than okay.

"For so long, I've worried about you, about what was going on with you. It seemed like—it just—you appeared to be going through the motions of life, rather than being a part of it." Lee nodded. It was the truth; his disengagement from everything had hurt people close to him, left them to fend for themselves when they needed real leadership, real friendship.

"You seem to have a renewed lease on life now, and if Kat is part of that, I want to be supportive. It's just that…"

"Dee deserves better…I know. I need to make a clean break, for both our sakes, only I haven't figured out how to get it done—we don't have lawyers in our current fleet, and technically, we don't have a President either—there's no one to officially help us through the mess."

"Well, you should at least make it official…find a way to let the rest of the RSG know. It will set the stage for acceptance…later."

Lee raised his eyebrow; Helo realized maybe he'd jumped too far in his conclusions.

"Kat…do you….are you serious?"

Lee knew it was a reasonable question, in the scheme of things. "I care for Kat—deeply. Is it love? No. I'm not in a position to offer myself that way right now."

Karl studied the floor for a long moment as he swirled the ambrosia in his glass. Finally, he looked straight at Lee.

"Is that because you're in love with Kara?" He said it softly; Karl and Lee rarely discussed such private topics so directly, but it seemed important to understand where the man's head was as they headed into a risky rescue mission.

Lee cleared his throat, and was noticeably trembling now. "Yeah. Lee Adama loves Kara Thrace…" The lump in his throat started to feel like it would suffocate him.

"You might as well know that I…it's why I want to go back to New Caprica. _Have_ to go. She's…hurt me in ways I didn't think I could be, but I can't—I simply cannot abandon her. It isn't that Sharon and my father and Laura and Ellen aren't important…." He faltered here. Gods, how it must sound to Karl.

"Hey," Helo said, reaching to touch Lee's arm with affection. "I, of all people, understand what it means to put it all on the line for one person."

"Well, Karl, she was just a Cylon—she wasn't married." Lee grinned, just then, hoping Helo would see the dark humor. They both laughed, realizing the conversation needed a lift in spirit.

"I won't even ask about your plan for that, Apollo, getting around Sam. Seeing as you're a god, though, I bet you'll figure something out." He looked at Lee's face, intently, weighing if he should share anything else. He'd resisted it before, when Lee first talked about his visit with the Priestess; Karl had always felt it was better not to interfere. What's more, Kara, if she was alive, would strangle him for betraying confidences. All the same, it seemed like some truths needed to be discovered, finally, and he was the only one to tell them right now.

"She _is_ in love with you, Lee. I realize she made a choice with Anders, but I think it was a reaction, rather than an action."

Lee's body froze; he held his breath, afraid he might miss a syllable of what Helo said next. He'd never expected Kara's best friend to share anything that revealing.

"She….Kara told me something I think you need to hear. If you ever reveal you know this, I will kill you myself, if she doesn't get to me first." Lee swallowed hard, wondering if he was going to be uplifted or destroyed by what Helo said next.

"She used to dream about you, most nights, after she was assigned to Galactica. I asked her about it, because I heard her say your name in her sleep a number of times, and I worried about others overhearing her. I didn't know much about you back then—she'd only told me about the lectures and the naming of the maneuver. Kara left out what happened…afterward, at least the first time she told the story.

The second time, though, on Galactica, she opened up a bit about her feelings after I 'encouraged her'—it took nearly a whole bottle of liquor before she'd finally let anything out. According to Kara, the dreams started the night—"

"After the naming." Lee's voice shook slightly.

"Right…but they faded away, the more…as time passed."

"You mean, when she fell in love with my brother." The sadness was tinged with bitterness; Helo hadn't grasped, until that moment, how much it must have hurt, and how deep the losses were from the Eos tour of duty.

"I wish…knowing Kara, she didn't tell you how messed up she was when the notice came…of your death." Helo glanced furtively, studying Lee's body language, listening to his breathing—he was walking into virgin territory, and there was no way to be sure how Apollo might react.

Lee sensed his friend's trepidation, and gestured for him to keep going.

"I obviously don't know what happened during the Eos mission, other than what you've talked about recently, but the news—the memorial—it was in the military papers. Have you ever seen the pictures—"

"No, Karl. Looking at images of my own funeral seemed to invite bad luck, and I'd had enough, by the time I made it back to Caprica."

"I just meant—if you looked at the pictures, Lee, you'd understand how grief-stricken Kara was. She fell to her knees in front of your photo, sobbing; Zak had to lift her into his arms and carry her out to the car."

At that point, Lee turned pale. _Oh, Kara…why didn't you let me know it mattered that much? You let me think…_

"I only know the bits and pieces she let tumble out in her drunken state. She loved Zak; he was a rock for her and your father throughout that time. But some part of her…believed…she thought it had all turned out wrong. Your death wasn't the gods' plan, and she wasn't supposed to be with Zak."

Lee leaned forward sharply, a sudden anger raising the color back to his face. "How could…damnit, Karl, I came back. I came back!"

"Gods, Apollo—can you imagine the shock, the wrenching experience, for Kara and everyone else? And then to realize you made it back physically, but not emotionally? You've refused to discuss Eos—even after all of this time, you wouldn't disclose anything. The other night you finally shared a few details, true, but only because you were more invested in the rescue plans, and I'm willing to bet you left most of the crucial parts of the story out, as they relate to you personally. If you can't open up about what happened, after several years, I don't believe you were forthcoming back then either."

"But, but—" Lee sputtered. So many feelings were starting to roil about in his chest. He inhaled deeply, to still the internal chaos, and tried again. "I wasn't present emotionally." Lee spoke slowly. "I'll admit that. I had been…physically tortured. I'd lost half my pilot group. The weapon—there was a lot of collateral damage, and then I nearly lost my life before it was all over. I was…numb, Karl. I was only 23, and unfortunately, I didn't know any effective ways to cope; I burned out. Nothing left. And I saw—Zak was full of life, full of promise. He seemed so much better for her…and she warmed his heart. It wasn't my place to…change anything."

Karl bowed his head, arms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. Lee mirrored him. Now Helo's voice was low, tinged with disbelief.

"Except that isn't the whole truth, Lee—is it? I can't…Kara didn't share anything about what transpired once you got out of physical rehab. She just said the dreams about you started again after 'the camping trip.' Do you know what she meant?"

Lee felt nauseous just then, gripping the edge of the sofa to steady himself. Helo watched, carefully—this was packing quite a punch.

Lee said, almost inaudibly, "go on."

"Whatever happened then, and whatever happened afterward, it's haunted her ever since—her words. I'm not sure how to read it, because she never elaborated, but she did say…" he sighed, trying to figure out how to paraphrase her words. "Kara was direct about this, Lee. She told me she'd wanted to be with you for a long time. She used the words 'aching pain.' And then she admitted she…she still felt the longing. She didn't know how to stop."

Lee bent over, his face into his hands. Helo focused on Lee's shallow breathing, knowing the man would speak again once he regained control. There were no tears; Karl suspected Lee was too shocked to fully absorb the import of the conversation yet.

Raising his head, clear-eyed as he looked over, Lee's eyes blazed as something new dawned on him. "Karl, when did she share these thoughts with you?"

Karl smiled; it was the most significant question to ask. "The discussion of the dreams took place shortly before the Cylon attacks, almost two years ago. The last statement came from a rather drunken discussion we were having on New Caprica over my last visit, about four weeks before the occupation."

"Did you just say…a month before we jumped? After she'd been married for almost a year?" Lee's mind was racing.

Karl nodded, unable to articulate anything else. He exhaled, slowly, trying to stay centered. He'd just become an actor in this drama, passing along volatile information—it might explode in his face and everyone else's.

"Then there's hope. After all this time…Helo, I'll never be able to thank you for what you've done. You can't know—we're going to beat the Cylons, reunite with our people, I'm sure of it now. I haven't felt hope in so long. So long. The gods have blessed us, and they'll guide us forward." His tone was upbeat, almost jubilant. Karl was amazed, struck by how infectious Apollo's new energy was. He was also startled to hear Lee Adama invoke the gods.

"You realize what you just said, right? About the gods blessing us?"

Lee processed the question for a second. "I did say that…" He was overcome by a sensation, like an electrical current, racing from head to foot. _"You are not a believer, Lee Adama? You will be. The time has come for you to make your presence known."_

"Frak me," Lee muttered under his breath.

"Gods, Apollo, the look in your eyes—what is it?"

"The Priestess…she said I would become a believer."

"Well, that's certainly an intriguing prediction." When Lee didn't say more, Karl decided to press forward.

Anything else you'd care to share about that conversation, since we're on the subject?"

"I…it's hard to repeat the words aloud without laughing uncomfortably…it feels so strange to even think about the implications. Essentially, she appeared to be telling me it was my time to lead; she said, like the god Apollo, I was 'the source of divine knowledge' and I could manifest prophecies into reality. Then the Priestess elaborated on the strengths I possessed and would need to apply going forward; she said 'the torch would be passed' to me, and I should be ready for it."

"I guess, as far as seer readings go, this one's pretty positive, Lee."

"Don't mock me, Helo; it's hard enough to—"

"I wasn't mocking—honestly. If we were to hear the Pythia speak, and she laid out that kind of reading, a military leader would consider it a good omen for victory. There are worse things to hear right before a high-stakes mission."

"Okay, I'll have to concede that point."

'What about Kara, Lee—what did she say about Kara?"

"It's pretty—outlandish…"

"I don't care—I want to hear it. And you need to tell someone, Lee; I don't know why, but it's important. You have to get this out in the open, look at it fully."

A sudden heaviness seemed to settle over the two men. Lee's voice was somber as he spoke.

"The Priestess told me that Starbuck is represented by a sea nymph—a 'fish out of water.' She referred to Kara directly by her call sign—twice—and said only I could 'give her full human form, pull her into the realm of man.' I still don't have any frakking idea what that means."

Karl was thoughtful. "Maybe it means you're the only person who can finally help Kara feel truly a part of something. She's never felt like she belongs with anyone or anything…you're the one to show her the way to move towards something, rather than running away."

"What was more unsettling was what the woman said next. 'You put your divine soul into her hands. This was a great risk, and you are in agony because of it. She forgot what she possesses; in her carelessness, she has trampled over your gift of yourself, whipping you about as she flails.' "

Helo leaned back into the couch, dumbstruck. "Do you believe that, Lee, on some level? Watching the two of you, it doesn't seem so far-fetched…"

"I've been asking myself that question…over and over. Since I've never believed in the gods, I can't say I've thought a lot about my 'divine soul' or how to 'manifest a human form' to restore it. What I'm certain of, though, is something happened between us, and it was profound, at least to me. From the beginning, there was this enduring bond—and Kara felt it too, I know she did. But we were apart for so long…'agony' is the right word…I've never been able to explain to myself how we let so many things come between us."

"I think you're looking at the wrong end of equation, Lee. All of that is in the past; despite all the obstacles, there's clearly a foundation for the future. The Priestess—did she say anything about the future?"

"Yeah. The Priestess was emphatic Kara and I would finally figure out how to move forward, and once we did, we'd be unstoppable. I couldn't make any sense out of her instructions on how to make that happen, though. Her words were 'to fulfill your promise to her, and hers to you, when the time comes, stop at nothing to complete the rescue mission—bring her back to you and you alone. Then remain motionless—let the rescuer become the rescued. Once she restores your soul, the rest will make itself known.' "

"She sounds like the genuine article, this Priestess—these riddles are pretty layered."

"Tell me about it." Lee groaned slightly as he shifted his weight on the couch; he rubbed his eyes and wondered how much this conversation would torture his dreams later. "Any insights on how this all fits together?"

It was Helo's turn to moan lightly in frustration. "No wonder you were afraid to tell me all of it at first…" He cocked his head slightly, looking at Lee skeptically. "This isn't all—is it…"

Lee shook his head "no."

"Frakkin' head trip. I couldn't have imagined how complex it is…"

"Look, maybe I shouldn't put any weight to it. There's a reason the military doesn't condone soothsaying—it really does mess with your thoughts, leave you more perplexed than before."

Lee jumped as Helo grabbed his hand across the coffee table, squeezing it firmly; their eyes locked in a moment of intense awareness. "No, Lee—never say that. You've _got_ to figure it out, take it in, transform it. I'm no prophet, but I know when I've heard the statements of one—my mother was a direct descendant of the house of Delphi, and I listened to hours of readings of the scrolls, taken from several of the ancient oracles of Caprica. This is _real_."

Helo had just relaxed his grip, and Lee moved his hand; to his shock, Karl quickly held fast again. Eyes widened, suddenly a little frightened, Lee stared at his friend, wondering what in the frak was happening to either one of them.

"Something else affected you...An apparition, a loss of time." Helo's face was rigid, eyes boring straight through; there was an eerie trance-like element to his features. Voice lost, Lee could only nod an affirmation. Uncertain what to do, he tried not to move; Karl didn't even appear to be breathing.

In another jerk of movement, Karl pulled them both to the floor on their knees, still gripping Lee's hand; Lee scrambled to catch his balance with his free arm. He wanted to protest, wrestle away, but a strange force gripped him and he could only gasp softly as Helo pulled their arms forward, foreheads now touching the floor.

"Lords of Kobol, we pray for understanding. You've touched your chosen instrument, Lee Adama, and prompted me to help him, support him in accomplishing your will and vision for your people. He is the incarnation of Apollo, god of colonization. May we both be found worthy of the mission entrusted to us. I thank you—the colonists thank you—for this gifted leader. We ask for your protection as we reunite our people and prepare for the next phase of our journey. With your power, we cannot fail. So say we all."

Wave upon wave of energy passed through Apollo as he kneeled there, Karl's words thrumming through his veins in a rhythmic sing-song, six-eight pacing. As the last word faded in the room, he sensed Karl go limp. The man's body rolling to the side, Lee could tell Karl was unconscious. He wanted to go to him, see if he was alright, but his muscles wouldn't respond.

A warmth reverberated in every cell of his body, almost painful—sitting on the edge of pleasure and discomfort. He managed, at last, to stretch out on his back; he felt serenely calm, emotionally. Physically, his head seemed to be spinning, as though he were drunk. And then the images came. Rapid-fire snatches of thought, shuffled and spilling out like cards in a deck.

Sharon, hand in a pool of liquid, exhausted and doubled over. The face of the captain from the Aias base of operations. Roslin lying in a pool of blood. Karl ordering throngs of people to calm down and listen to his instructions. Tom, badly beaten, committing himself to something. Kara's lips hot against his own, her body enveloping him. His father holding him, limp in his arms, wailing in pain. Kara yelling in his ear to fight harder. A little girl telling him to go to the temple. Kara, standing in an ornate cave, arms outstretched. Himself, standing at the top of a ridge, staring at an ocean, waves roaring in his ears. And blackness.

Lee opened his eyes. His limbs were responding; he was able to turn his head to see how Karl was doing. Helo, breathing shallowly, was also coming around; his hand went to his temple. Wincing as he slowly sat up, Helo muttered it felt like a raptor had been flown on overdrive through the middle of his forehead.

Managing to get to his knees, Lee reached Karl.

"What in the frak was that?" Lee studied his XO, trying to determine how much the man remembered of the past few minutes.

"I…gods, Lee, I've never had…I saw my mother fall into the divine trance once, but no one ever thought the men in the family would be able to…"

"To what, Helo? What happened to us?"

"We…it's called 'the rapture.' One of the gods reaches out a hand and channels his or her knowledge into the mind of someone. In this case…you."

"No. No way. You were the one in the trance."

"That's how it works, Lee—it requires a medium, someone who's—"

"A direct descendant of Delphi?"

"You're smarter than you think, Apollo." Helo grinned; he felt giddy now, the headache subsiding. He'd never imagined he could be a channel…or that Lee Adama was the leader, the one who would know the path.

Do you…can you remember what you said?"

"Yes."

"Well? Damnit, Karl, you dragged me onto the floor, into a prayer position I've never held in my life, and said these words…it was rhythmic, only it seemed to be in the literal pulse of my blood."

"It was the Prayer of Colonization."

"The…you've got to be kidding me, Karl. I've never heard Roslin talk about—"

"It's not in the Scrolls of Pythia, Lee. It's only found in the Chresmologue."

"The compilation of oracles—I thought that was a myth."

"No. It was entrusted—"

"To the house of Delphi. I'm starting to see the pattern…"

"Look, Lee, I know it's very new to you, but you've got to wrap your mind around all of this, and quickly. My assignment to Pegasus, the recent development of our friendship, your disclosures about the Priestess—none of it is by accident. You've been prepared, and now you are stepping into the role—it's time to act."

"The rescue…"

"That's only the beginning. Don't think of it as an event, where you'll hand the mantle back to your father and Laura Roslin or others once the goal is accomplished. It's a ritual, a process to complete your transformation; tonight was the initiation. The rescue is the 'trial of passage' and the exodus to Earth will be the 'mission of honor.'"

"Karl, something really strange just happened, but what you're talking about—it makes no sense to me. You sound like a crazed worshipper!"

"Like I said…you've got to absorb what's happening, Lee. I had no idea—until this evening—that I had a spiritual role at all. I've always kept it at arms length; I saw some things when I was in my early teens that spooked me, and I haven't entered a temple for genuine prayer since I was fourteen. But what happened, just now—there's no mistaking it. The trance, the Prayer of Colonization…and the visions. You saw the visions, right, felt the warmth of the divine energy entering your body?"

"Godsdamnit, Helo, stop doing that. It's like you're reading my thoughts—"

"I don't think you should be taking the gods in vain, Lee."

"I…frak. Frak! I don't know if should be disgusted or frightened right now…I did have a sensation of warmth, and I experienced these images…but they were fragments. They didn't add up to anything, and they certainly didn't tell me something important, like how to defeat the Cylons or how to find Earth. I can't…this goes against everything I've ever believed. The gods are sociological manifestations of the human need to think there's a larger meaning to events—nothing more!"

Karl sighed in frustration. "Lee, your resistance is just going to make it harder." He got up, and put his hand out to help Lee. Both men stood there, lost in their own thoughts. Helo moved towards the hatch, but turned around again and said "Apollo," to get his attention.

"The initiation has taken place. There won't be any going back. Despite what you might think, I'm not any more comfortable with this revelation than you are; I abandoned my faith a long time ago, because I was too scared to face what was implied. My mother was a fanatic—at least that's how I thought of her, until this moment—and she was always reading from the various scrolls, dragging me to secret religious rituals and discussions of mysticism. I figured it was because of her family history—she was caught up in the idea of her lineage, a way to connect to the mother she never got to know. The time I witnessed her in the divine trance, she said the worlds would end in a rain of fire, and the survivors must endure extreme hardship trials before the cycle ended. I was fourteen frakkin' years old; I didn't want to hear about some apocalypse. I ran out of that room, and refused to ever attend anything else. My father made sure I didn't have to.

"But here we are, Lee—the worlds ended in a rain of fire, and we sure as hell are living through a series of trials. The Prayer of Colonization can't be initiated by a human; it has to be prompted by the Lords of Kobol. Just as the Lords left to populate the Colonies, so certain individuals, in each cycle, are meant to expand the reach of humans in the universe, bring a group of people to a new place, where hopefully they evolve—rise above their base emotions and pettiness. In this cycle, that individual is you. The images are guideposts—as you see or learn about each one in waking life, you'll know you're on the path and making progress."

Lee closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of grinding metal and the resounding echo of the hatch closing. He tried to imagine what awaited him in the future; he had no idea what he was supposed to do next.

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	10. Ch 10: Beware the Ides of March Part A

Chapter 10: Beware the Ides of March

**A/N: **First, a big thank you to all the reviewers and people who've emailed me with your comments—it has definitely kept me inspired!

Second, this is a big chapter, but it's been a while in coming, so hopefully it 'hits the spot.'  I took a couple of weeks to write out the Eos back story (it refused to stay on the backburner any longer); the results of that work have been folded into this chapter (and will continue in the next). Please note, due to server limitations, this chapter has two parts, A and B.

Third, I want to give a BIG Thank You to my beta, Uberscribbler. He has been unfailing in his willingness to talk through any plot point and offer up alternatives when I was trying to work out a tricky spot. He has really kept me motivated!

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**Chapter 10: Beware the Ides of March**

"_Those things had to happen to me. That was my destiny. But you'll understand, soon enough, there are consequences to being chosen. Because destiny, John, is a fickle bitch." Character—Ben, __Lost__, episode "Cabin Fever"_

"_Oh, a storm is threatening my very life today; if I don't get some shelter…I'm gonna fade away. War, children—it's just a shot away; it's just a shot away." Rolling Stones, "Gimme Shelter"_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Sweat was dripping. Dripping everywhere. Lee woke up drenched, fighting for air. He was back there…in that viper. Metal so compressed and distorted it was impossible to tell it had been a viper, except for the nose tip; he had been trapped in that narrow machine core, his body as misshapen as his ship. _Lee. Shake it off! You're in your rack on the Pegasus; that is the shadowed past. You can inhale normally…that's it…take in as much air as your lungs can hold—feel the pressure, cherish the exhale—that's good. You're fine. It's all fine. _

Flinging his legs over the side, Lee let his bare feet take in the coolness of the metal floor. He wiped the beads of water from his forehead, and as he lay his hand down in the sheets, he marveled how damp they were. _Damn, Apollo—who knew it could still grip you that hard after all this time? _

It was the terror, the abject fear, that plagued him. Of all the war images held captive in his memory—his torture, the shooting of the Olympic Carrier, the dead pilots lining the hangar deck of Eos—the worst ones remained the sensations and poorly sighted glimpses he had, through his helmet, after that terrible explosion. Buried alive in jacket of steel…that's how it felt, in those moments.

Apollo thought he'd put the experience behind him. Years had passed since he last experienced such a vivid dream, relived the actual moments with that intensity. But there it was. Precipitous and treacherous in its effect, the way he felt unbalanced and scared. _ Can't afford "scared." Of all the frakkin' things to deal with, this cannot be one of them. _Hurtling himself off the bunk, Lee ripped the sheets off his rack and tossed them in a pile. Reaching for a tank and running shorts, Apollo dressed and stuffed his feet into the right shoes. After a quick splash with water, he moved through the hatch and started a furious running pace. It wouldn't be possible to keep it up, but as long as he pushed his body that roughly, he wouldn't have to think. If he gave himself enough time, he could use up the adrenaline coursing through his blood. Leave the fear in a trail of sweat behind him.

Twenty minutes later, he forced himself to get as far as the head before his legs refused to carry him further. Falling to his hands and knees, Lee crawled over near a locker bench and spread out, flat on his back against the floor. Unfortunately, though his body had collapsed, his mind was still running at the same furious pace now. Closing his eyes, Lee gave into it. All the fragments of the story had been coming out; he might as well let the next set of inner demons have their day.

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_**Sit Rep (past): Viper squadrons from Battlestar Eos on approach to second Rogue base, eighteen months into assignment; 80 light-years from Caprica **_

"Apollo—Eos Actual. Visual?"

"Three primary carrier ships, Sir. Thirty rogue fighters already in the air, probably regular patrol."

Understood, Apollo. Operation status?"

"Operation Pollox 'Go,' Eos Actual."

"Confirmed. Execute now."

"Attention squadrons—runs begin on my mark—mark!"

Thirty-six vipers, in four groups, initiated the approach. They had five minutes, at maximum burn, before they'd appear on radar; the pilots would need perfect aim to take the thirty rogues out before additional ships launched. Two groups would focus on the rogue fighters, while the third began bombing the outer two carriers. Apollo was leading point for the fourth group, taking on the main ship.

The rogue patrol, still in formation and with no scouts, was surprised. They flipped and still managed to get two-thirds of the group in defense formations; the Colonial squadrons destroyed sixteen rogues in the first twenty seconds after detection. _Damn, they're fast – who the hell trained them so well?_ Lee wondered, silently, as he started barking out additional orders for the vipers to shift tactics. He watched in consternation as his pilots picked off only eight more ships. _It's not enough—they frakkin' know that's not good enough! _He began a rapid-fire string of commands to execute the two latest maneuvers he'd developed; the viper pilots had only practiced them twice, but there was no choice. If they didn't get the last six out of the way in the next 15 seconds, the operation was in serious jeopardy before even one main goal had been reached.

Multiple explosions confirmed the risky new tactic worked; his own squadron, meanwhile, was knocking out the latest rogue fighters right after they launched. "Ninety seconds past initial radar detection, people—push! Push!"

The original two viper groups joined forces with the squadrons targeting the outer ships; Apollo heard the chatter in his com as main engine targets were destroyed. _FTLs…come on…kill the FTLs…yes! _He pumped his fist quickly in excitement. "Two minutes, ten seconds past detection…we're behind the clock…begin attack runs now!"

Closing his eyes briefly to block out the jumble of noise in his ear, Lee made the 180-degree turn and began flipping switches needed to release the heavy bombs attached to his undercarriage. The bombs were specially equipped with mag couplings. They would affix to the carrier hull upon contact, with a thirty-second time delay before detonation. His squadron continued to provide cover for him as more rogue fighters made it past the launch bay, strafing his teams. After release, Apollo's dradis reflected the bomb placements—as planned, they locked onto the primary bulkhead seams fore and aft on the targeted carrier. "All vipers—break! Break! Explosion in twenty…eighteen…sixteen…"

At exactly two minutes and twenty-five seconds after the start of the Pollox operation, horror smacked Lee Adama square in the chest. Four more carriers, the same size as the one he had just attacked, jumped in directly above the current contingent. Heavy fire claimed five pilots before Apollo could get out a formed set of commands. Further shock set in as one of the new carriers released two small drones; these moved to hover over each bomb and Apollo was amazed to see the magnetization reverse. The bombs immediately begin to drift. The drones kicked in short, powerful thrusters for three seconds, moving through space to re-align with the bombs. Standard tow arms extended to grasp the weapons; they would activate only when the magnets were engaged, so the bombs would be inert until…_Frak. Frak! The drones are heading straight for the outer edge vipers, away from the carriers… _"Code red—repeat code red! Stay within 500 feet of carriers, or mag bombs will attach. Repeat—stay in 500-foot radius!"

The vipers responded, but the tactic meant they were limited in defense moves and attack runs. Another twenty-five rogue fighters were emerging from the new carriers; the operation was in dire straights. In frustration, Apollo transmitted back to the battlestar. "Eos Actual--Apollo. Must retreat. Four new carriers in action; bomb plans unsuccessful. Need immediate extraction. Repeat—need immediate extraction."

"Understood, Apollo."

"Bombs in control of enemy—drones employed. Stay sharp."

"Confirmed."

At three minutes and thirty seconds, Lee counted fifteen vipers still in play. "Retreat and prepare for extraction, vipers—drones will attempt to lock in, so keep it tight and mobile." Apollo did his best to protect his team from the onslaught, screaming aloud when two more ships exploded off his right wing. The Eos jumped into view; thirteen vipers scrambled towards the hangar bays.

Without warning, twenty-five more vipers launched out of the battlestar tubes.

"Eos Actual—Apollo. What the frak is going on?"

Commander Thornton came onto the com. "Operation is highest priority. Weapon use authorized. Engage Sisyphus protocol."

"Engage Sisy—request for private channel, Sir."

"Denied, Captain. You have your orders."

Willing himself to hold his tongue, Apollo sat silent for two long, precious seconds. He just couldn't accept this was going to happen…

"Captain Apollo. Confirm orders." Commander Thornton was in no mood for debating.

"Confirmed. Sir."

There was no more time left for thinking; his flight group--every last person—might perish before the weapon completed its now six-minute cycle.

After the second test of the EMP, the engineers had managed to shorten the atom-cooling phase. It would hopefully catch the rogue forces off guard for completion of the end-game, but it wouldn't offer any guarantees for his vipers—they were currently becoming outnumbered two-to-one.

"Attention, all squadrons. Sisyphus protocol commencing. All vipers engage with enemy. Repeat—all vipers engage!"

The thirteen ships almost at the launch bay reversed course and moved to intercept. Apollo could hear cursing and praying echoing in his ear as the pilots took on the rogue fighters and carriers. Lee continued to watch the drone movements, but they were hovering at a certain distance from the main action. _Waiting for the landings… _

A large moving object in his peripheral vision startled Apollo, and then his viper veered uncontrollably. Debris from an exploding rogue fighter struck the ship's side; Lee struggled with the systems and his stick, trying to regain maneuverability. As soon as he was in command of the viper again, Apollo pushed into the fray to provide additional cover for the vipers working to destroy the FTL drives of remaining carriers. He shuddered as he watched yet another fifteen rogue fighters launch. The Aias group was fully aware of the EMP weapon and its capabilities; they weren't about to let the battle end this way.

Fighting for a clear strategy under such fluid conditions, Apollo quickly scanned the action. He could see five of the seven carriers had lost FTL functions or engine power. Somehow, his pilots had managed to hold their own against the rogue fighters; all thirty-eight vipers were still engaged. The sheer number of Aias ships, however, meant attrition was still the greatest threat; for every rogue destroyed, another appeared, as the carriers continued to release new squadrons.

Sorting through the chaotic firefights, Apollo realized the pattern of attack: the rogue fighters were setting up a barrier line, clearing a path for a small group to break through the viper defenses and fly underneath the battlestar cannons. Even though the Aias group wouldn't know how to disarm the weapon, they could target the main power source of the ship; if the engines were dead, the battlestar wouldn't be able to defend itself or jump away. With enough firepower to eliminate all of the vipers—it would be a matter of time—the Colonial ship would be unprotected and easy to board. He needed to disrupt the advancing forces immediately…according to the countdown clock in his viper, there were four minutes left before weapon activation.

Issuing orders as he positioned himself near the rogue barrier line, Apollo watched the vipers successfully take out the remaining carriers' engines. The Colonial squadrons broke into three groups; two began firing barrages along the emerging line, holding the recently formed inner rogue fighter group away from the battlestar. The third Colonial group, led by Captain Adama, took up positions around the main engines. It was a dangerous juncture; one miscalculation by a viper in maneuver could vaporize that ship or damage the battlestar's most vital systems.

The Aias rogues were prepared for this final phase, and the fighting intensity escalated rapidly. The countdown clock indicated three minutes were left before weapon discharge. Apollo knew he'd lose many pilots in the next sixty seconds. The rapid series of explosions obscured his view; it was impossible to tell if the rogues had broken their formation to concentrate on the main target. A brief second of relative darkness revealed ten rogue fighters were bearing down on his squadron. The remaining viper pilots were ordered to support the last defense line; Apollo was down to thirty-one ships. _Two minutes to go_…Eos cannons unloaded all ammunition; the core rogue group was knocked down to five fighters. The other vipers and battlestar artillery wiped out most of the outer advancing rogues trying to provide fire cover for the core formation. _Ninety seconds before EMP discharge_…

The vipers finally received the signal to begin combat landings. Lee ordered one other pilot to remain with him, covering the engines; they had to keep the worst from happening for another forty-five seconds before they could head for the safety of the hangars. Three rogue fighters started a final attack run, heading straight for them. Apollo and his wing managed to take out two ships, the last one chasing them as they struggled to reach the landing bay. _Thirty seconds_…he whooped as he saw the other viper's skids hit just in front of him. _Twenty-five seconds…_

Searing pain. That was the last sensation Lee remembered. Unmitigated agony, followed by silence and darkness.

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"Sit Rep! What the frak just happened?"

Commander Thornton—it appears the armed drones attached to the closing landing bay doors. One bomb failed to activate; the other detonated fifteen seconds before jump."

"Damage report? Is the other bomb—"

"Two-thirds of extended landing bay obliterated; second bomb attached to debris. We managed to seal off the hangar—auto-blast door did engage and hold."

"And the vipers?" Captain Thornton tried to keep his voice from wavering.

"Unknown, Sir. Communications went dead; I've dispatched a full medical team and rescue crew."

"If they didn't land behind the blast door, they couldn't survive the jump…"

"I'll use the portable com to radio CIC as soon as I have word."

"No. I'm going…I have to see for my…I have to know. Stay on deck and assess the other systems affected by the explosion."

"Yes, Sir. Please take the portable com, Sir."

Commander Thornton nodded. "Find out the ship's status, quickly. We'll have to go back to…make certain the operation was successful. I want to know what shape we're in before we try to jump again."

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Apollo was suffocating. He was vaguely aware of air still being pumped into his helmet, but he was pinned against the console so tightly he couldn't move his lungs. A terrifying and relentless pain gripped his left side; he had the odd thought he should be grateful for the throbbing, since it meant he probably hadn't broken his back. Lee was gasping for air, to little avail; there was no room to slide even slightly.

Fighting for consciousness, knowing he had only a few seconds, a word rattled in his skull: _pressurization._ Pressure…suit—his suit was still pressurized! If he could pull the emergency ring, he might gain enough space to finally breathe. Apollo couldn't be sure anything else was pressurized—it could be his death warrant—but it might buy him a few more minutes of life, buy him some hope of medical crews coming. Wiggling his hand, trying to keep the growing darkness around his eyes from expanding, Lee grabbed what he thought might be the release. With no air, he had no energy; he pulled as hard as he could manage. Darkness won in that moment; his last flicker of thought was of Kara, her voice whispering his name in his ear.

Some moments later—Apollo couldn't know how many—he came to. _Suit depressurization worked_…he squinted as he reacted to a bright light shining into his eyes. The helmet visor was cracked and smeared with blood; he couldn't see any details or people. A muffled sound told him someone was above him, outside the ship hull; then he was aware of a very loud buzzing noise near his head. The pain on his left side actually intensified; whatever internal injury he'd suffered, it was quickly becoming fatal. _Need to know I'm alive…move fast…have to hold on…_He tried to use his voice. The sick taste of blood suddenly filled his mouth, and he coughed up the bright liquid into the helmet.

_Gods…I wasn't ready to…Kara, wanted to go back and…have to try..._Lee struggled through the nausea and pain to make a sound again. He gave up on any words; in frustration and fear and agony, he let a scream rip from his bloodied lips. He screamed a second time, and the last wave of life energy shot through him as he let it continue, unabated. The rescuers reached through the metal opening to cut the helmet in two and remove the broken pieces; Lee's gut-wrenching wail permeated the space around the emergency crew.

"He's going into shock and coughing up blood; we'd better move fast, or we'll lose him."

"Give him morpha. Two shots."

"Sir, we don't know the damage yet; it could make things worse—"

"He may die before we finish getting him out of this twisted scrap. I won't have Commander Adama's son spend his last minutes in this kind of agony."

"Understood, Doctor."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Commander Thornton was sitting by Lee's bedside, watching the respirator move rhythmically. He kept grinding his teeth, thoughts of recent events battering his conscience. The EMP weapon discharge eliminated the Aias operations completely, in one move; the fighters, the ship-building facilities, the conventional armaments—all had been destroyed. But the weapon hadn't been developed with the expectation humans would be aboard enemy vessels; the energy was intended for machines. Microwave emissions meant excruciating deaths for all aboard the rogue carriers.

In the end, however, the mission had been accomplished. A new weapon was ready for full deployment, and the Aias group had been dismantled—throughout the twelve colonies and in deep space. Two hundred sixty rogue sympathizers were killed in twelve months; during the same time, over seventy viper pilots also died. It was a high price to pay to prepare for a Cylon enemy the Colonials hadn't encountered in nearly forty years; Thornton had to wonder, privately, if history would prove the folly of this pursuit. Worse, his own command was ordering him to cover tracks; the Eos had the grim and morally questionable task of destroying all evidence of the battle outcomes.

As predicted, several of the carriers exploded after the EMP weapon discharged, making Thornton's next job less extensive. The scientists had previously determined the cause of the explosions; if the fuel level in a ship's tank was just low enough, some of the tylium liquid, as heated by the microwaves, changed to a gaseous state. The fuel injector would simultaneously short circuit; sparks from the electrical discharge ignited the gas vapors, causing a massive explosion in the tank itself. This event set off a chain reaction of other detonations, until the affected ship simply blew apart. Depending on the proximity of another vessel, it could become part of a second chain reaction.

When the Eos jumped back after the attack, three carriers were fully blown apart; two others had been caught in the debris and were severely damaged. The Eos crew was now expected to destroy all of the vessels, breaking them into small sections, then apply special thruster equipment to set the debris in motion in all directions. The process would to take five days.

Thornton rushed to request a special military medical transport be sent immediately to the area; he had to risk the intelligence exposure to save those who survived the bombed hangar blast. While all remaining vipers had landed behind the failsafe door at the time of the detonation, the subsequent damage left four pilots and ten hangar deck crew members in grave condition. One of the pilots had already died—the man flying wing beside Apollo—as had three of the crew; the others were barely holding on, and Lee was in the worst shape. He needed surgery, in less than 24 hours and at a skill level beyond that of the doctors aboard; the medical transport would have everything necessary to try to save his life.

The emergency medical ship was expected to arrive within the hour, and as Thornton took the young man's hand in his own, he desperately hoped it would be enough.

A loud clearing of someone's throat caught Commander Thornton's attention. It was his XO. "The transport's here and docked; I asked them to move Captain Adama first, so they can review the information and prepare for surgery."

The Commander nodded. "I want to see the Chief Medical Officer of that transport now; please take him to my quarters. Ask Dr. Breslin to join as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The two physicians stood as Commander Thornton entered the room. "Dr. Drury, is it? Have you been briefed?"

Dr. Drury looked at the Commander solemnly. "Your doctor updated me on the condition of all other patients coming aboard; we waited for you to arrive before discussing Captain Adama's condition. What is the extent of injury?"

Dr. Breslin spoke. "Captain Adama's viper was crushed during an explosion in the hangar bay, and a piece of metal from the rear structure penetrated the cockpit seat. It lodged deep into his left side; the spleen and colon were damaged, certain muscles were nearly severed, and his heart and lungs were bruised. We managed to stabilize him, but there's internal bleeding; he needs surgery for organ and muscle repairs."

"I managed to recruit two of our best surgeons for this trip; Adama will be in good hands. We'll do our best. Remember, though, we'll have to make the jumps back in phases; the FTL shifts are destabilizing for critically injured patients. It will take three days to reach Caprica."

Commander Thornton interjected. "Don't fail him."

"I…No, Sir. We won't." Dr. Drury knew the odds; they all did. He could only put his most skilled people forward to help the man; the rest was up to the fates.

Moving towards the hatch, Dr. Drury pursed his lips. "I need to go now and make sure Captain Adama's stabilized aboard our ship. I'll use the security channel to let you know his progress."

"I expect Commander William Adama will be there when you land…"

"He already made that clear. I'll be prepared for the 'Adama' treatment." All three men smiled slightly, knowing it would be a difficult conversation.

"Thank you, Dr. Drury."

"We'll pull him through, George."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee woke up, his heart pounding. He couldn't figure out where he was, or how he got there, and memories of Captain Resurgere flooded him with adrenaline. Deeper fear set in when Lee realized he was hooked up to a respirator, his body so weak he couldn't manage to lift his hand. He wanted to cry out, but there was no way to make a sound; tears immediately began streaming along the sides of his face as pure panic gripped him.

Three medics rushed over, alarmed by the heart monitors wildly chiming.

"Gods, he's going into defib…Code Blue! Code Blue!"

Lee's body gave out; he slipped into nothingness.

"Godsdamnit! We're losing him…Frak…Charging! Clear…"

"No change—"

"Then hit him again!" A reassuring jagged line pattern appeared on the monitors.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Drury ran towards the gathered team, taking in the situation. "What the frak did I tell you? Someone is supposed to be at his bedside at all times—he's been through too much—he's bound to panic if he wakes up with a machine pumping his lungs! Godsdamnit! His heart and lungs are bruised…he cannot afford the loss of energy or the stress of cardiac failure and electrical shock."

The head medic spoke up. "I take responsibility, Sir. We're short-handed, with all of the additional critical patients from Eos…"

"Immaterial, Lieutenant."

"Understood, Sir. I'll assign Lieutenant Mercer to stay with the Captain."

"How are his other vitals? We were able to save part of the spleen, but with the colon resection too, he's in real danger for septicemia."

"White cell count is holding steady, Sir. Low-grade fever, but that's to be expected…"

"We've got to give his immune system a fighting chance. What's the status on the isolation bed?"

"The room'll be ready in two hours."

"Good. Page me as soon as he's being moved."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Piercing lights and harsh noises pulled Lee into semi-consciousness. He was immediately aware of the respirator, but remembered it had been in place some time before. Trying to focus his eyes, Lee realized he was moving…rolling…wheels. He was on a gurney; there was actually wind against his face. The lights faded, and Apollo caught a glimpse of a night sky before being whisked into a building. Every bump of the wheels caused his whole body to seize up in pain; he wished he could just make it stop. He was so exhausted…as though every last drop of blood had been drained away. Closing his eyes, Lee felt his own life slipping again. _Maybe I should just let go now…_

"Gods, he's going into cardiac arrest…"

"Grab the cart—there's no time to reach a room—"

"Charging—Clear!"

"Come on, Lee Adama—you made it this far—"

Lee could hear the voices, but everything was distant and muted. He knew he was nearly dead; an all-encompassing peacefulness was spreading through every cell in his body, and he wondered if it mattered anymore, the fighting for…

"Lee? Lee?"

_Kara…Kara's voice. I've already passed over, then…she can't be here._

"I've got your hand, Lee. Zak's here too. We're here—you've got to—"

"Lieutenant Thrace, stand back—that's an order!"

"Lee! Lee!"

_Her voice…it's real…real…_

"I've got a rhythm—his heart's restarted. Let's move, people—he needs an ICU bed, stat."

_Moving again—where's Kara? Come back, Kara. Come back…too much pain…don't want to be alone with it. Please, please…_

"His vitals are still wildly uneven—I think he's in a lot of pain. We need to give him another shot of morpha before we go further."

"Do it."

Lee slipped into unconsciousness yet again, not knowing he'd remain in a coma for the next seven days.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep (present): Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks after New Caprica Occupation**

Voices nearby drew Lee out of his memories. He glanced at his chrono, cursing under his breath when he realized he had been out of his bunk for an hour and a half. Tired now, a headache beginning to build from his temples to his forehead, Lee moved quickly to stand; he didn't want anyone catching him sprawled out on the floor, wondering about his mental state. Pulling the kit and towel from his locker, Apollo decided he would grab a shower before returning to his bunk; it might help him become drowsy again.

Finally reaching his quarters once more, clean sheets hastily spread, Apollo sighed deeply as he sank into his pillow. The headache was worse, but it blocked all deep thoughts, allowing Lee to mercifully capture a few more hours of sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eight hours later, after morning meetings and report reviews, Lee stepped into the CIC. Everyone seemed deep in concentration at his or her post; each person was buzzing with nervous energy, preparing for the rescue mission. Apollo asked the communications officer to set up a ship-wide broadcast; he and Tigh had established a set time for the announcement.

"Crew of the Pegasus, this is Commander Adama. After conferring with the RSG, we've agreed it's time to begin active raptor scouting runs to New Caprica, seeking to establish contact with our people. This is a significant step, signaling final preparations for our full rescue mission. We obviously don't know the status of things planet-side, and I want to prepare you for the possibility we may not make successful contact for several weeks. Knowing the skillfulness of our military folks down there, I'm confident they'll have found a way to receive and transmit—it's just a matter of timing. We'll pursue this course of action for three weeks; if we've been unsuccessful up to that point, the RSG has developed an alternative plan for reconnaissance. I'll keep you informed of our progress—you'll hear the minute we have a positive identification. In the meantime, emphasize self-management at all times. We're prepared and ready to complete this mission—stay focused and we'll execute against the plan."

Helo moved beside Apollo as he finished the broadcast. "Can we talk in your ready room?"

Lee looked at him with slight wariness. "Sure…let's go."

Once inside, Lee gestured for both of them to sit. "What's up, Karl?"

"I've reviewed all of the planned ground operations with Tigh. We're set, at least based on the assumptions we've made."

Lee nodded; this couldn't be what Helo wanted to get off his chest.

"I've also finalized the two 'end-game' scenarios—losing one of the battlestars, and using the EMP weapon."

"Well, obviously, we'd better not lose the battlestar Pegasus, if we intend to use the weapon." Lee smiled sardonically as he said it; Karl's face remained motionless.

"Gods, Helo, spit it out!"

"Have you…have you thought about the prophecy, Lee…the part about how 'you alone' are supposed to rescue Starbuck?"

"Yeah…what are you getting at?"

"We don't—there's no scenario for that…you going down on the planet."

"Frak me, Karl—you're letting this stuff mess with your mind. I _am_ rescuing Starbuck—along with what we hope will be another 30,000 Colonials! The Commander can't leave his post—you know that—there's no way I would be going planet-side. I'm supposed to lead 'Colonization,' remember? Can't do that if I'm blasted to smithereens on a hero-fool's errand. What's more, Starbuck is Starbuck—standing on her own two feet and not about to be waiting around for anyone or anything."

Lee rubbed his face in aggravation; why the hell was Helo bringing this up as though it was important, let alone as though it was a possibility? They'd assumed all along Kara was with the rest of the leadership group; she was an integral part of the ground extraction plans.

"Lee—I know you don't want to consider this, but there's the chance Kara's been imprisoned…or worse."

"There's that chance with every 'leader' on the frakkin' planet, Karl. Surely that didn't just enter your mind now?"

Helo looked angrily at Apollo. "Uncalled-for tone, Sir."

Lee was unrepentant. "Look, are you asking if I'm worried about what we'll find—the conditions, the status of those we love, the extent of Cylon aggression? Of course I am, Helo. But I can't afford to dwell on any of that, and neither can you. Self-management applies to us as much as to the rest of the crew!"

"I'm telling you, Lee, that there's going to come a moment when you have to re-evaluate the priorities, and as your XO, I'm required to remind you of that."

"Because you're afraid I'll toss everything aside to run down to New Caprica?" Lee was incredulous.

"No, because I'm afraid you won't. It's the counter-intuitive move, and you're still hanging on to ideas of things from the past."

"Ideas of things from the past?" _ Like your interrupted sleep last night, Lee?_

"You haven't accepted what happened a week ago—I can tell—and the outcome of the rescue mission may depend on your state of mind regarding the future. Everyone's future, Lee."

"Karl, what I've processed from the events of last week is my own damned business. I need you to be the XO, not some frakkin' priest with a calling. We are moving to reclaim our fleet, put things right. That's your job, that's the priority."

"We are moving to transform our fleet, put things on a new path. That's _your_ job—_your_ priority."

Apollo shoved the chair aside as he stood up. Fury was building in his eyes.

"Your language is bordering on insubordinate, Major—this discussion is over. Dismissed."

Karl stared at Lee a long minute. To Apollo's surprise, Helo didn't seem angry; he was determined, jaw set, but quiet. Waiting for something. _You'll have to wait a long while, Helo…_

"Helo—one more thing." The XO continued to stand still.

"The religious stuff—the prophecy, the prayer—that stays between us, even after we've brought the fleet back together. Understand?"

Karl continued to lock his gaze on Lee, unflinching. "Yeah. And it will, Commander—stay between us—right up to the point where the gods demand you step forward. You'll be the one to acknowledge the 'religious stuff'—and when that time comes, you won't be able to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Eleven Weeks After Cylon Occupation**

The Cylon Cabinet convened in the main meeting room at their headquarters on New Caprica. Final preparations were being made for the public execution of Felix Gaeta and the most revered of the Priestesses that could be identified among the humans—she went by the name Selenne.

"When will the gallows construction be finished?" D'Anna was leading the conversation.

"Another 24 hours. The weather caused some delays; we had to balance the building activities with the need for secrecy. The fencing and tarps began to collapse under the wind and sleet; we had to reinforce them first." Cavil was responsible for the next steps in the plan.

"I didn't ask for a drawn-out excuse, Cavil. We need to strike quickly; it's already been 24 hours since the attacks, and the humans are feeling emboldened by the silence of our people."

"I offered no excuse, D'Anna. Perhaps you'd like to be out there yourself, directing the centurions?"

"I have other projects needing my attention."

"Ah, yes, your human pet. I would think Caprica's experiences should have been enough of an example to prove the folly of adopting one." Cavil sneered.

"My pet is at least contributing something interesting that might be of use to us later. Leoben's, on the other hand—"

Leoben spoke heatedly. "Kara Thrace is not a pet—she's a part of our destiny—and the other one, Laura, is a prisoner. One who gave up some important information yesterday that I think all of you will find valuable."

D'Anna laughed unkindly. "Really? In another one of your 'sessions,' Leoben—your built-in excuse to abuse 'our destiny' so freely?"

Doral held up his hand. "Give him a minute, D'Anna. While I'm skeptical of the validity, he did uncover something you'll all want to be aware of."

"There's reason to believe Admiral William Adama is in hiding on New Caprica."

Cavil's eyebrows raised. "That's not possible, Leoben. The human woman—Roslin—she used that old human trick of disinformation on you."

"No. Here's the video—see for yourself. An Eight helped with the lip-reading and translation."

The Cabinet watched the images and scanned the pages Leoben handed to each member.

Simon began the next round of conversation. "We went through the tents—everything was thoroughly scanned and checked. If Adama was here, we'd have found him."

"Unless he was shifting between locations…we didn't alert centurions to that kind of possibility. There could also be a hiding place, a safe house."

Doral intervened. "No. Very unlikely. As I stated to Leoben—we've studied the Admiral in some detail—his motivations and patterns of behavior. He's too full of self-importance to stay in the shadows; he'd want to be seen 'leading' the settlers. We have enough humans in our police force now to know the main rumors passing through the city—this has never been on the radar."

"There could be alternative explanations—"

"Leoben—silence! We've indulged your whims long enough. I asked for the video to be shown so the Cabinet could see this information for what it is—speculation at best—and further, I want the future care of Thrace and Roslin to be transferred to Simon, for the time being. The Cabinet must take a vote on the matter—we need to be clear that Leoben's peculiar approach to the humans is unacceptable.

"You saw Thrace on that tape—if she _is_ part of our 'destiny,' we may be losing our only chance to realize it. Her mind is deteriorating at an alarming rate. Further, as Simon will confirm, Leoben has been administering Lethe to Roslin, causing her mental deterioration as well. This must be stopped."

"Doral—calm, brother. We know you've objected to Leoben's tactics for some time. There is sufficient evidence here to support your contentions." D'Anna was bored with the sparring between the two Cylon men; it was time to eliminate the distraction.

Cavil looked to Simon. "Are you prepared to take over their care?"

"Yes. I began tapering them both off the heavy drug dosages yesterday; hopefully, in another day or so, we'll have a better sense of what's permanent damage and what's reversible."

"Doral, we'll put it to a vote."

"Wait—Doral and I have an agreement, and I want that to be part of the vote as well." Leoben stared coldly at the other Cylon.

Caprica was perplexed. "What do you mean, an agreement?"

"It wasn't binding—we made a wager."

"Leoben, continue." D'Anna thought things might be growing more interesting again.

"I'm convinced William Adama is on this planet, and the public execution will draw him out. Doral agreed that if Adama is brought to us within the next three weeks, he'll be turned over to me—along with Kara and Laura. Adama's capture would be a direct outcome of my 'tactics'—proving the validity."

Cavil gestured to Doral to confirm or deny Leoben's claim.

"We did wager that, but—"

"Then it should stand. Let's turn the prisoners over to Simon; if we find the Admiral here, on New Caprica, credit should go to Leoben…he can satisfy his whims, having proved the value of his methods." D'Anna liked the idea of watching a good 'cat and mouse game,' as the humans would call it.

Cavil nodded. "Anyone not in favor?" No one spoke or moved. "Done, then. Simon, arrange for the quarters of the two women to be set up here in this building; after what's happened, I don't think the detention center is the best location. But keep them apart; I want to see how Thrace recovers on her own."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom was throwing up for the third time that morning, and he was sure his temperature was well above 100 degrees. He thrust his hand out to grab anything that would help support him as he tried to make it back into his bed. The shaking was uncontrollable; he could hear his teeth clicking together incessantly. Zarek cursed himself for his stupidity; he'd passed out, in the snow, and awoke some time later in a serious state of hypothermia. There was no chance his body would've held up long enough to make it to The Cellar, even if he'd taken the risk, so Tom had lumbered back to the Phygera instead, grateful his limbs took him that far.

Tom wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, and he suspected his blackout was a result of Gaeta's attack or the drug Caprica had administered on the trip back to the planet. Not that it mattered; he had gone into physical shock, with no viable means of treatment to pull him through. His condition was bound to worsen over the next several hours. _Maybe my number's up_, he thought dejectedly, knowing it would mean Felix died for no good reason. As if sparing Tom Zarek's life could be considered a 'good reason'…

He held out the faint hope one of the settlement leadership group members would realize he was back and come to the ship, discovering that Tom needed help—quickly. The other possibility was that someone from the Cylon Cabinet would seek Tom out, but the thought of seeing or talking with any of the Cylon models put him in a panic. Even though he hadn't been tortured, something about Caprica's words terrified; knowledge of Gaeta's murder pressed down hard on his conscience. As he sprawled out on the bed, Tom was beginning to think it would all soon be moot, these speculations. Zarek was weakening further, as the electrolyte imbalance and falling blood pressure began their nasty work on his organ systems.

For the second time in as many days, Tom managed to pull out the talisman from Tory, barely gripping it in his severely shaking hands. He closed his eyes and prayed to the gods—for forgiveness. It wasn't right to ask for anything else; Tom had never committed himself to religious practice, never offered anything before to these gods he'd steadfastly ignored. He wasn't sure he could ask for forgiveness either, at this stage of the game, but he was remorseful. Sorry for the people he'd killed early on in his life; sorry for his misguided arrogance, thinking he could somehow lead a movement; sorry for talking Baltar into using New Caprica as a campaign issue and supporting Baltar in getting elected; sorry for his general crimes against humanity.

Tom cringed as he realized one other important task he'd likely fail in before he died—passing on Gaeta's words from their final meeting on the basestar. They were important; probably Adama could figure out the riddle...he should try to write down the phrases…only he didn't have the strength to find the tools, remember the strange sentences. Total failure, to the end…

A thought struck Zarek then; he held the talisman in his left hand while his right struggled with the drawer next to his bed. He managed to wrap his fingers around the prize: one shot of morpha. With a little luck, maybe he'd just fall asleep and never wake up; even if he wasn't that fortunate, he'd still experience some relief before the final agony of being trapped in a body deteriorating towards death. Clumsily, Tom managed to stick his arm, and a small smile came across his face, even as his teeth continued chattering. A few moments later, the shaking stopped; it was blissfully quiet, and he sighed as he drew the covers closer around him.

The familiar sound of the hydraulic door lift penetrated his awareness. Tom would have laughed at the absurdity of his timing, if he could have managed the effort, but he was too incapacitated. He fought to keep his eyes open; Zarek was aware of his head flopping to the side as his mental faculties faded. Tom thought he saw a figure with long, dark hair moving near his face, but he felt like he was in a dream-state, so that might have been a wish projection. However, then the figure spoke, and the warm tenor of her voice nearby was real enough.

"Tom—oh gods, Tom, what happened? What did you just inject? Tom! Focus on my voice…that's right…I'm going to help you, but you have to fight through the images, stay here in the real world with me. You've got the…the talisman…squeeze it tight. Try to talk to me…I need to know what's happened."

"Tor-ry?"

"Yes, Tom. It's Tory. Feel my hand. Frak, you're so cold…have you been sick?"

Tom shook his head up and down slightly, though he instantly regretted it—multi-colored sparks swam in his vision.

"And the injection—was it morpha?"

"Y-ye-s." He fought to get another word out. She had to understand what the real crisis was. "Hyp—ther—"

"Hype…ther…hypothermia? You're hypothermic?" Tom gripped her hand harder in response.

"Okay. Okay. I know what we need…but I'm going to have to make my way to the medic tent nearby, get the supplies to take care of you. Don't lose faith, Tom…I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

Tory flung open the bedroom closet, hoping to find additional blankets. Spying a comforter, she dragged it down from the shelf and hurriedly wrapped it tightly around Tom's body. Finding a knit cap, she pulled that over his head too; any way to trap the body heat had to be used. With a quick kiss to his forehead, Tory moved back towards the door and the outside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, medic Daniel Froman in tow, Tory scrambled up the steps into the Phygera. Tom was death-white and passed out on the bed. They worked quickly to set up an IV, pump fluids into him, and give him the precious shots of what medicine they had left. Froman unloaded an electric blanket from his knapsack, plugging it in and asking Tory to help him strip the patient, so the warmth would be directly against Tom's skin. After 15 minutes, all of the medical steps were completed; There was nothing else to do but wait.

"Daniel, thanks for coming and bringing these supplies—I know they're our last."

"He's still the President, though I hardly know what any of that means anymore."

"It means we have a way of life—human society—we're still fighting for. And this man has been doing his part to keep the Colonials alive—so we're doing ours for him."

The medic bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I need to go, Tory—it's almost nightfall, and there are a lot of people who need regular blankets distributed. The power's been spotty at best, since the resistance attack, and the Cylons aren't going to repair the conduits, so we can't rely on space heaters to help people make it through the cold evenings."

"I know, Daniel. I'm beginning to think winter is just a permanent—and deadly—feature of the landscape here."

Froman moved to leave. "I'll come by in a few hours; if you think I can sleep on the floor in this outer room, I'll stay with him tonight, make sure he's stable."

"That would be wonderful."

After the medic left, Tory surveyed the small space, searching for clues that might suggest what had happened to Tom and Gaeta on the basestar. No one had seen Felix; now that Tom was here, she had a sickening feeling it meant Gaeta's fate was an even darker one. In the past 24 hours since the last resistance effort, after the centurions searched every single tent, the settlers had largely been left alone. The absence of communication could only mean the Cylons were planning something significant; Tory was positive they would intensify their response.

She was equally certain it wouldn't take much to push the rest of the settlers over the edge—humanity was reaching the critical juncture where decisions would be based on the "nothing left to lose" mentality. The Colonials were starving, freezing, laboring—suffering. Prolonged suffering—the kind that motivated people to battle for change, even if the odds were against them, even if death was inevitable. The Cylons could strip the Colonials of everything—snuff them out of existence—but the one thing the humans would hold, until the last, was free will. They would choose to go out fighting.

_And it will be an arduous battle_, Tory thought, as she saw the electricity flicker out in the ship. Knowing the heat would continue to run on the emergency generator but the blanket wouldn't function, she understood she had to make up the difference, and soon, or Tom would probably not survive the night. Without hesitation, Tory removed most of her clothing and moved under the covers, gingerly sliding her body alongside his. The electric blanket had been working well; the warmth lingered in the sheets and other bedding, as Tory carefully placed her arms and legs to surround Tom's skin with her own. Uncomfortable at first, she willed her mind to stop analyzing, and let her limbs relax. Hopefully, the power would come back on; until then, Tory knew the best thing she could do was try to get some sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Tory? Tory, is everything alright?"

She stirred, finally remembering the voice belonged to Daniel Froman. "In here, Daniel." It was morning; had he not returned last night?

"There you are—how's he doing?"

"I…I don't know yet. The power went out…I was worried about his condition backsliding, so I—"

"Good thinking, Tory. You kept his body temperature stable—that was very important."

"I…thanks. Is the power back on?"

"No—but this place still feels heated—how's that possible?"

"Emergency generator—works the life support systems and the primary equipment, like hydraulics for the hatch."

"How long will that last?"

"Depends on the fuel left…two days, maybe."

"We won't try to move him, then, for the time being. I'll give you a second to…get up…and then I'll check his vitals, see where we are."

Tory rose from the bed and quickly tossed on her clothes. Froman took Tom's temperature, looked at the IV bags, gauged his pulse and pressure.

"He's definitely improved, Tory. We're out of the IV solution, so you'll have to help hydrate him the old-fashioned way—wake him every three or four hours and make him drink two glasses of water."

"Fine. I can do that. What about eating?"

"If he's got anything here, let him eat it…shouldn't be a problem, and he has to do what he can to get his energy back. The Cylons are already asking about him, where he is…they won't let him stay out of action for long."

"What did you tell them? Did they come by the medical tent?"

"Yeah—took a look at all of the patients, as if they were searching for someone specific. Then asked about Zarek. I explained his condition; that D'Anna model seemed a little skeptical. Wouldn't put it past her to come to the ship herself, so be ready."

"Thanks, Froman."

"Oh, and I can't forget to tell you this—it's why I couldn't come back last night. The Cylon leadership made a general announcement—while I was here helping Tom—anyone violating 9 pm curfew will be shot on the spot. Further, all the humans have to come to an 'event' in the middle of the city today at 11 am—about an hour from now. I told them Tom couldn't walk or stand up, but D'Anna said your presence was mandatory."

"That sounds pretty ominous, doesn't it…"

"I'm sure it will be…sobering…alarming. The Cylons don't know how to project anything else."

Tory wished it was possible to communicate with the other settlement leaders, but she didn't dare take any risks. Froman was only a casual acquaintance; she couldn't trust him to carry a message.

"I'll be at the public center area in about half an hour, then. You should probably get back; we don't want to draw undue attention to Tom's condition at the moment."

"Tom's pulling through, Tory—that's the good news. We have to hold onto our successes to keep surviving, no matter how fleeting they might be."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tory left Tom sleeping soundly as she dressed for a long stint of standing outside in the piercing cold. Approaching the center area, Tory saw there were thousands of people milling about. Despite the crowd size, very few people were talking; dread lingered over each individual settler. Three huge view screens had been set up, clearly to ensure all of the people would see what was taking place in the moments ahead. A large structure, unrecognizable under the tarp coverings, drew the eye to the center of the screen. Tory involuntarily shuddered; something shocking and indelible was going to occur, and everyone gathered knew it.

Searching for recognizable faces, Tory saw Galen and Cally nearby. She navigated through the throng to stand next to them. Cally was holding Nicholas in her arms.

"Hey. Good to see you both."

Galen nodded. "You too. Heard Zarek might be back?" He darted his eyes around; it was a dangerous time to ask any questions, but they needed to pass information along as quickly and as often as possible, given the circumstances.

"Yeah—in bad shape though." At Cally's horrified look, Tory hastily added, "not torture, at least not the kind we're all thinking of—it's hypothermia. He went into physiological shock; Tom's condition was severe when I first found him."

"You think they just dumped him outside, let that happen?" It was a morbid curiosity, but Tyrol still tried to make sense of the Cylons' actions.

"I don't know, Galen…Tom's been passed out for most of the last 24 hours. There's any number of questions I wish we had answers to…no sign of Gaeta or what's happened to him."

Cally shifted the weight of the baby in her arms, trying to shield him from the bitter winds kicking up. "Gods, I wish we knew why we're here—it's insane, insisting each and every Colonial come out into this frakkin' cold."

Tory said nothing, but as she turned to stare at the covered structure for a moment, she wondered if she'd prefer not to know what lay ahead.

A face caught her attention—_It can't be. He wouldn't risk this…_

"Galen?" Tory tilted her head in the direction where she thought she had just seen the Admiral. That isn't—"

"Shhhhhhh, Tory, for frak's sake!" Tyrol moved close to grab her arm and whisper in her ear. "I'm as disturbed about it as you are, but the Old Man is getting a bit off balance, starting to reach the event horizon, if you know what I mean. Laura, Starbuck, Sharon—it's all adding up. And with no sign Apollo or the others are ever returning…"

Tory whispered intensely back. "We don't know, really, if the fleet is out there. Gaeta was still working on the jammed frequencies. That's part of the reason I'm so anxious to find out what's happened to him; we need to know how to carry forward with the steps. Do you think the Admiral can—"

The arrival of centurions and the Cylon Cabinet halted all movement and noise. Two people, clearly prisoners, were yanked into view; though hooded, Tory was certain one of them was Felix Gaeta.

The Three model D'Anna stepped up to a microphone. "Humans of the 12 Colonies, your recent actions are crimes punishable by death. Despite our best efforts to live beside you, share our resources, educate you in the ways of the one God, you have spit in our faces. Today, the Cylons demonstrate our commitment to still carry on in this 'social experiment,' while better protecting our own interests.

"The Colonials must accept the consequences for their actions. Still, we know not all of you were or are involved in the Resistance activities, and punishment should be meted out to those who played an active role." D'Anna signaled to the centurions to remove the tarp coverings.

Collective gasps and shouts could be heard as the gallows appeared. In the corner of her eye, Tory saw Admiral Adama, hooded and face downward, shift his weight uncomfortably. She was overwhelmed by a sensation—_Bill's presence here is a mistake._

Galen's elbow in her side pulled her attention back to the scene in front. Keeping his hands below the general line of vision, he pointed to the gallows and then showed three fingers. Tory studied the structure, and realized—there were three nooses. But only two prisoners…

The Cylon Cavil stepped to the microphone. "Today, you will witness an event familiar in your human history. The public execution of wrong-doers signals crimes against the Cylons will not be tolerated. We will punish those who act in defiance and rip apart the fabric of our partnership. Murdering Cylons—including centurions—justifies the taking of lives in return."

Doral removed the hoods of the prisoners. More settlers reacted in realizing Gaeta and the Priestess Selenne were up on the scaffold.

"These individuals admitted to their culpability. They will now accept the consequences." Centurions positioned the two humans and placed the nooses around their necks.

D'Anna stepped forward once more. "We know these leaders did not act alone. While they would not give up the names of conspirators, our police force has surveilled many groups. We want to send a clear message to the conspirators among you—be prepared to lose everything you hold dear. Come forward, surrender to the police force, and we will spare others. Remain in the Resistance, and watch as those you cherish pay the ultimate price."

Tory's heart leapt in her throat as D'Anna thrust out her arm and pointed into the crowd, near the spot where Tory, Galen, Cally, and the Admiral were standing. Not even thirty seconds later, she was frozen in horror as two Centurions emerged from the sidelines and made a direct line for Cally and Galen.

The other humans stepped back as the centurions approached. It was instinctive; no one was able to reason clearly, think of options to stop what was happening. Felix Gaeta's voice could be heard in the background screaming "No, No! This wasn't supposed to happen—No!"

Cally was lifted straight off the ground. She tried to pass the baby to Tyrol, but the centurion roughly scooped the child into a metal paw, still gripping her arm with the other 'hand.' An other-worldly sound began to rip from Galen's throat. He was screaming, trying to grab Cally and Nicholas back; the centurion knocked Tyrol to his feet in one smooth sweep of metal.

Tension through the crowd was almost a physical sensation against the skin, but still, no one moved. They could storm the gallows collectively, stop the madness…but the centurions had enough firepower to kill every last person standing. In the altered time state associated only with moments of intense crises, the settlers watched as Cally was placed in the third noose. The Cylon Cabinet stood silent, appearing to take some perverse pleasure in the waves of fear emanating from the sea of people before them.

And then, time shifted into hyper-speed. The sound of a lever being pulled…three humans dangling, feet thrashing…the unprecedented sight of a centurion snapping a child's neck…wails rising from every direction. Tory had to look away; her mind wasn't able to process the sights and sounds around her.

Another moment…Bill's hooded figure reaching to forcibly grab Galen, lock him in an embrace to keep him from falling and becoming trampled. Tory could only stare as Bill dragged Galen into another part of the crowd, trying to ensure they would both be lost in the swarming about to follow.

And the swarming started. Small groups leapt out onto the scaffold, grasping for the members of the Cylon Cabinet; other clusters began jumping on top of centurions to bring them down to the ground. Rapid bursts of gunfire crackled, and settlers began dropping—two, three, four at a time. The Cylon Cabinet members, Caprica and Boomer, were shouting and gesticulating wildly, ordering the centurions to stop shooting. Cavil grabbed D'Anna, following Doral, Simon, and Leoben into a heavy raider on land nearby. Tory watched the swirling commotions, dazed and lost. A hand—a voice—a slap across her face—she shook her head to clear it, understanding Sam was beside her.

"Tory, we have to move—now. Admiral's ordered all of us to relocate to The Cellar, permanently, starting this minute."

"No, Sam, No—I have to be with Tom. He's in serious condition, in the Phygera—"

"Damnit, Tory, this is no time to play 'hero!' Tom can fend for himself—"

"You're wrong, and I'm not leaving him alone, Sam. Not after what we've just witnessed—we cannot possibly leave him to the fate of those—monsters—"

Sam hissed. "Let's get him then, and hope to hell we can reach The Cellar without risking the lives of the rest of the leadership group."

It took seven minutes to reach Tom's ship. Snow was beginning to fall again, heavy enough to indicate a blizzard was unloading above them in the near future; at least it might make it harder for the three of them to be seen during the trek ahead.

As Sam entered Tom's bedroom, he understood why Tory had been worried. The President was pale and shaking visibly, mumbling in a delirium.

"I'm going to carry him over my shoulder, Tory—it will be the fastest way to cover the distance. Grab a few of his things, and help me with covering him; there's no way to protect him fully from the cold, but we can try."

They said nothing more as each went about the immediate tasks. Another five minutes had ticked by; they were stepping outside again. Tory spoke. "We should split up—it will seem less noticeable." Sam waved a hand in agreement.

"See you in a few more minutes, Tory."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill staggered forward in the snow, the falling wet flakes making it difficult to see ahead. Galen was walking with him; Adama kept a tight grip on his arm, to be certain he could steady the Chief and stop him from bolting. They were almost at the tent entrance. Bill yanked Tyrol beside him as he stepped behind a tree, surveying the area. There were no centurions in sight, but Adama continued to scan the tree line and any surface structures nearby, squinting to determine if he noted anything resembling a camera or video feed. Satisfied he wasn't finding anything, Bill guided them both into the tent and kept a hand on Galen's back as they descended the steps.

Alarms went off as Adama realized Tory and Sam were absent; he also wondered what had become of Tom Zarek. Knowing Galen was his immediate concern, Bill gestured to Maya to come and help. They removed Tyrol's soaked outerwear.

"Let's get him in the shower; it will warm him up a bit. Maya, set up a cot near this space heater, and hunt through that box in the far corner—there—for a sedative. I think we have one bottle left. We should give a dose to Galen right now." Maya scurried off while Bill tried to talk to the Chief in a low, calm voice. He didn't remember what he said; it didn't matter. He just had to keep Galen anchored—enough—to stabilize things, give his body time to catch up with his mind and emotions. Nothing would make the next few days, weeks, months easier—for Tyrol or anyone else. The only thing to focus on was survival. They might all be dead in the soul, physically sick from malnutrition, but it was still possible to survive. It was the only goal left; surely nothing else was attainable any longer. Even rescue seemed a hollow and inscrutable concept, in light of the present realities. They could only survive—fight—until the last.

After the shower, situating Galen to rest for a while, the Admiral went to check on Sharon. She was awake. The pain continued to drain her of energy, but she was alert and anxious to understand what had happened. Asking Hera to 'keep an eye' on Tyrol, Bill drew both women into the communications room to share the events of the past two hours. Sharon's eyes filled with tears as she listened to the sickening details; Maya could do nothing but stare at the floor.

"So what are our next orders, Sir? Everything's rapidly disintegrating; we need to come up with a plan to help the settlers survive. Scattered resistance actions aren't going to help; they Cabinet will take out the rest of our race, if they decide it's a lost cause."

Adama looked at her hard, a memory coming back to him. "You tried to warn us about how the machines would think…I'm sorry I didn't listen, take more heed."

Sharon took his hand. "I think we'd have ended down this road regardless, Sir. The actions of the Cylons have been ill-considered. They simply don't understand what they're doing—or how they're doing it. And now, I suspect they don't know how to stop, either."

Bill dropped her grip. "The Colonials know how to stop, but we won't—I won't. It's time for me to lead our people again, Sharon—our back's against the wall."

"As I asked, Sir—what's the plan?"

"We've got to figure out how to break the jamming signals, in the slim chance the Galactica and Pegasus are still out there and planning to help us. However, we can't wait around hoping for a mystical intervention any longer. I want to talk seriously about the alternatives—all-out war against the Occupiers, or an exodus. We've got flight-worthy ships with FTL capabilities, and supplies aboard them; maybe it would be better to be on the run than caged here, animals for slaughter."

"We need Sam here to really start hashing out the pros and cons of each…any idea when he might return?"

"I thought he'd be here already…" anxiety crept across the Admiral's face.

Sounds in the outer room interrupted their discussion. Bill saw Sam stumbling down the steps, a large form over his shoulder; Tory was following. He realized the body draped over Sam must be Tom.

"Sam, Tory—thank the gods. We were truly beginning to worry."

"We had to go back for Tom; he was too sick to make it here any other way."

Adama rubbed his face, briefly, before moving to examine the man's condition. It seemed like everyone was falling...this was his third 'patient' in twenty-four hours.

"What happened? He wasn't at the…how did he escape?"

"We don't know, Admiral. I found him in the Phygera yesterday, critically ill. Somehow he'd ended up outside, exposed to the elements, and went into hypothermia. Then his body went into shock; I don't know how long he'd been that way, or how he even made it back to his ship."

"So he's unconscious?"

"Most of the time, yes. He wasn't ready to be moved, especially out in the cold again, but we didn't have a choice."

"Was the medic able to give him anything—fluids, drugs…"

"Yes. But he's probably still dehydrated…I couldn't stay with him this morning."

"Okay. Let's set him up on the other side of Tyrol, see if we have any saline drip left to give him, and hope he regains consciousness in a few hours. I need some answers." Bill crossed over to Anders.

"Sam, how are you holding up?"

"Ready to be done with these Cylon bastards once and for all, Sir."

"So say we all. I know what I'm about to ask is risky—but every move we make is dangerous at this point."

"Go ahead, Admiral—I'm game for whatever you've got planned."

Bill smiled. He was reminded of the characteristics Kara had probably found so appealing in this man. "Gaeta had a computer in his tent. I don't know if the Cylons searched there; it could already be confiscated, but we have to try to retrieve it. Felix was working on our jamming frequency problem, and I have to see if I can figure out where he was in solving things."

"I'll head back out now. But, Sir—"

"We need a plan of action that doesn't involve waiting for help that may never come—I understand, Sam. When you return, we'll talk about the other possibilities."

Sam appeared relieved. "See you all in thirty."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tom jerked up from the cot, trying to figure out what was going on. The room was still; he recognized, finally, he was in The Cellar, and there were other cots nearby. _Sharon, Galen resting…what's happened? How long have I been here?_ He moved his legs; his whole body strained with effort. Tom noticed the IV in his arm and realized the bag was nearly empty. Thank gods—whatever they'd given him, it had helped tremendously. He was conscious and at least able to think coherently, for a change.

Tentatively, Tom moved to stand up. He was dizzy, but after a moment, he could take a few steps forward. He wanted to get to the communications room, find out who else was here who could fill in the blanks about his lost time.

As he unsteadily entered the room, Tory grabbed him to make sure he didn't lose balance. "Hey, Tom—glad to see you're awake, but you really shouldn't be walking around just yet." She gave him a small smile; one look in her eyes told him the last few hours had been emotionally painful. Sam and the Admiral looked up from the table, where Adama was busy with a laptop. Maya and Hera had spread out on another part of the floor; Maya was trying to keep the little girl occupied with a few toys.

Tory brought Tom over to the chair next to Sam and handed him a bottle of water and a protein bar. "Try to eat…we need you back on your feet."

"What happened? How did I get here?" Tom was unsettled by the vacant stares of the others.

Sam laid out the recent events. Tom leaned forward, head on his arms, as he understood the gravity of their circumstances. He was inconsolable over Gaeta's death.

"It's my fault…I involved him in all of this. I still don't know why he sacrificed himself like that…I wasn't worth it."

"Tom, Felix was a good officer, and he understood the risks and the reasons for taking them."

"No, you don't know…" Tom explained what had transpired aboard the basestar, including the final conversation with Gaeta and Caprica's actions.

"Strange that the Cylon risked anything to intervene." Bill was weighing the information carefully. "She did seem shocked by the actions of the others…she and Boomer did. They tried to stop the massacre afterward, though it was…futile."

"I'm not sure if it means anything, but Caprica and Boomer do appear to react differently. It isn't affection for the humans, but—" Tom wasn't sure how to describe what he witnessed.

"Affinity. Recognition of something…maybe because of familiarity. Both of them—or versions of their models—spent a fair amount of time with humans." Adama was processing.

"Not necessarily good memories to download, though—I can't believe it would explain…"

"I don't think that Cylon aboard the Pegasus downloaded." Adama's firmness on the matter startled Tom and Sam.

"I guess all we can say is we should keep observing those two models. If we believe they might at least hesitate before acting, we could use that to our advantage." Sam was already mapping out strategies for broader attacks; he wanted revenge…for so many reasons.

"Tom, you said Gaeta specifically asked to talk to you before returning to New Caprica. Do you remember the details of the conversation? He obviously wanted us to understand something."

Tom nodded. "It's easier if I just write out the words—do we have something I could use?"

Five minutes later, Tom handed the paper to the Admiral. He'd struggled to recall the right phrases, but he realized they had to be exact. Bill looked over the paragraph.

_The last time you and I went searching for something that tasted like the cum-urio tea leaf back on Sagittaron, we ended up with a plant we transported back to Roslin to cultivate. I've actually collected quite few new specimens of plants, and had talked with Baltar about testing these for new medicinal properties we might be able to exploit, or examining them as food sources. With Roslin gone, I'd taken over the care of the plants, and now, I'd like you to assume the responsibility. It may sound small, but I still believe Baltar could discover something important. My favorite was the mittere flower; it transmits a very sweet scent, and seemed to work on faster healing of surface wounds. My notes on it are on my desk; please see that Baltar gets them._

"Alright…cum-urio is a root phrase from the ancient language, meaning 'communications.' 'Mittere' is another root phrase, meaning 'message.' I think 'transmits sweet scent' ties into that—transmitting a message to our battlestars. All of this relates to the work he was doing to resolve the frequencies…and I have his laptop. That's probably what he meant by 'my notes.' But I can't…we have to figure out how to take the next steps. Tom, did he say anything at all, before you went to the basestar, about the jamming frequencies?"

He told me…it was a masked relay. Somehow, he'd rigged a masked relay. It would pull the data from the raider…I don't understand how it would function, only that he'd capture something on a personal device, then send it to his laptop."

"But the laptop was powered off, hidden when I found it." Sam worried they were on the wrong track.

"Right—but when we power it on, somehow…using the com panel here…the signals held in this device would transfer to the laptop, and the software could translate the data into something into useful."

"Okay. Tom, that helps a lot…let's hook this to the panel. Sam—hand me that cable." Adama maneuvered the equipment, then booted up the computer. They held their breath, waiting. Bill could see the machines were connected and communicating; a data sequence began streaming down the screen in a series of unrecognizable commands. Then a visual box popped into view: "Ready for conversion. Enter primary code."

"What the frak does that mean?" Sam was anxious, impatient.

"It means we're still missing a clue from Gaeta's message. He was aware the Cylons were listening to each word, and he was being extremely careful. He didn't want them to realize what he'd really done, what he was after." Adama marveled at the man's ingenuity.

Tom snapped his fingers. "he mentioned plants several times, and medicinal properties—healing surface wounds—maybe there's something in that?"

Adama shook his head in agreement. "Gaeta would remember the cryptograms from Academy training, and he'd expect me to follow along. So let's write out the four key words, in order: plants, medicinal, surface, wounds. If we take the first letter of the first word, the second letter of the second word, and so on, which is the first code we cover at the Academy…we get 'pern.' "

"Which means?" _These military types are too clever by half,_ Sam thought to himself.

Which means…means it's a slang term for something. Something a technology and communications expert would know…frak! Frak! I…it's not coming to me." Adama slumped in his chair, dispirited.

A female voice broke into the air. "Stands for 'pernicious'—as in 'pernicious virus.' "

"Sharon—it's good to see you. Pull up a chair." Tom was genuinely happy to see her, even though it was confusing, at times, even now—Cylon, but somehow no longer Cylon-like.

"Thanks, Sharon…that has to be it. Okay…does that mean, once I type the word in, a virus launches? We can't risk that…they'll track our signal immediately."

"No. It should mean that once you type in the word, the jamming frequencies will come up. Using the algorithm Gaeta programmed into the software sub-routine, every time you press "send" to unblock the frequency, the Cylon mainframe systems will interpret the communication signal as a potential virus. The system response to a computer virus is to encapsulate it—which in this case, will just ensure the frequency signal remains unjammed for a longer period of time."

"Won't the open channel be detected?"

"Unlikely. There are momentary lapses in coverage all the time, due to solar interference, unusual radiation, etc. The odds that one frequency out of thousands is actively open and transmitting—especially when there's no evidence of Colonial ships out there—they will consider it acceptable error."

"Won't that mean we only need one frequency, then?"

"The encapsulation functions for a set period of time. The computer systems on Cylon ships are almost living things—they mutate and adapt—once the system has developed the appropriate 'defense' to the perceived 'virus,' the threat no longer exists. Encapsulation's no long necessary. We'll have to change codes every 24 hours."

"Enough talking—can we just see if the frakkin' thing works?" Sam was less interested in the hows—he wanted to know if the Colonial fleet was out there and receiving.

"Let's take it out for a ride." Adama entered in the word, then pressed the primary key. Recognizable frequency codes appeared. Bill selected one, then pressed the 'send' key to forward it to the com panel system. A transmission screen opened. The Admiral typed in a message: "Still here. Come now. Out of time. WA."

The message went out; for ten minutes, the group was quiet, waiting to see if anything came back. At last, Bill spoke. "They'll be scanning all channels. There must be 300 codes here; let's send the same message over several frequencies, and give ourselves some time."

Sam spoke up. "Meanwhile, can we work on another plan? The Cylons aren't going to be sitting around waiting to see what the humans do next, and frankly, I don't want to disappoint them." He had a dark look on his face.

"We'll begin discussing another plan. But first, I want us to all bow our heads and remember Gaeta—he gave all he could to us, our people, and he deserves our solemn respect." Adama stood up, gesturing the others to follow.

Bill said a few words about Felix, and then additional comments for Cally, Nicholas, Selenne, and all the other men and women who had died in the past 24 hours. No one was able to hold back tears.

Finally, the Admiral looked up. "Now it's time to make sure those toaster mother-frakkers pay for all they've cost us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Lee was in his quarters, reviewing the latest CAG reports on mission preparations. He was relieved to see most of the statistics improving, but still concerned there continued to be so many mistakes in the complex maneuvers. They didn't stand much chance if they had to rely on basic flight moves. A sound at the hatch reminded him Kat was expected.

"Hey, Sun God. You look like you've been thinking too hard again."

"Uh-huh. Just going over the flight stats. I know the pilots are tired, but they've got to get these patterns, down, Kat—they Cylons will shoot them out of the sky in groups of ten if they keep this up."

"We're running the drills, Commander, and they're spending two hours in the ready room each day going over the timing, the sequences, the videos. It's coming together—we just haven't hit critical mass yet."

"The fleet has two weeks left, three at most, before we have to let this plan loose. I'd suggest we hit 'critical mass' in the next few days."

Kat waited for a smile, but seeing none, came over to the couch to sit next to Lee. "We will. I'm with them all the time, Apollo—I know what I'm seeing—we're gonna hit the targets." She put her arms around him, then drew his face in for a kiss.

Lee felt her next to him, and tried to force other thoughts out of his mind. Thoughts about a stunning viper pilot who had missed him, after all, wanted him…still. He kissed Kat back, let his hands wander to their favorite places, let hers move between his legs…

Gently, Lee pushed Kat back from him. He couldn't do it. Somewhere between last week and this one, after the talk with Helo, everything internally transformed. He dreamed about Kara, had fantasies about Kara, worried about Kara. The longing had taken over again, full force, and he wasn't going to be able to ignore it—or want anyone else.

Lee's head was down; he looked into Kat's eyes at an angle, furtive and tentative.

"I get that this 'thing' is winding down, Apollo. We're nearing the edge of the razor, and the focus has to shift. You don't have anything to regret or apologize for."

"You've been…" Lee sat up to look her in the eye. "I do have feelings, for you Kat. And I always will. It sounds so trite to talk about friendship, but—"

Kat put a finger briefly to his lips. "It's not trite—it's what we've always been. Will continue to be." A sharp pain shot through Lee's center…_Kara said that too, and look what happened…_

"Apollo, stop it. I've seen that look before…the past doesn't decide the present. And Thrace doesn't get that, yet, but you do…don't fall back into old habits."

"I still can't figure out how you do it…read my thoughts that way." He smiled, his first genuine one in the conversation.

"That's what friends do, Apollo. And I'll keep doing…so watch out!" She laughed, and he joined in.

"Hey," Lee said, softly. "I'll never be able to thank you. You helped me get back on my feet, in so many ways. No one's ever…I hadn't experienced that kind of giving before."

Kat leaned over near his ear, conspiratorially. "Maybe you never asked, Apollo…or accepted."

He stared into her eyes, faces close together. "Now I know how to do both." Lee pressed his lips against hers. It was a good-bye; this part of their relationship was ending, and he wanted to acknowledge it properly.

Kat stood up to go. "I'll see you for our regular briefing with Racetrack tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee couldn't sleep after Kat left; so many thoughts and impressions kept rushing into conscious awareness. He wasn't able to keep up or process all of them. Exasperated, and a little desperate, he got out of bed, contemplating what to do to deal with his insomnia—running hadn't turned out to be such a good idea. Lee found was completely off schedule the following day, and every hour counted right now. Maybe he should just try walking.

Casually dressing, Apollo headed down the central corridor. The ship was always busy now, even with the smaller crew, but at this time of shift, few people wandered the halls. He listened to the rhythm of his walk, concentrating on the light sound of heel against metal. He was almost in a light trance, his thoughts slowing down in speed, if not in volume.

Something tugged at him, a slight change in the air…he stopped, finally looking at where he was. He blanched, slightly; he was standing in front of the official temple on the ship's main deck. _ How the frak did I end up here? _He stood with locked knees, staring at the doors. He hadn't stepped into a temple since…_since Zak's funeral_. When he married Dee, Apollo had insisted on a civil ceremony—they took their vows with Helo officiating, his father and Sharon as witnesses. He wanted nothing to do with temples or priests or hollow promises of better tomorrows and the dead always helping to guide the living.

Now, Helo's words were pounding in Lee's ears.

"_You'll be the one to acknowledge the 'religious stuff'—and when that time comes, you won't be able to keep the words from spilling out of your mouth."_

"_Just as the Lords left to populate the Colonies, so certain individuals, in each cycle, are meant to expand the reach of humans in the universe, bring a group of people to a new place, where hopefully they evolve—rise above their base emotions and pettiness. In this cycle, that individual is you."_

Lee took a deep breath. It wasn't like something would self-destruct inside if he went in…he pushed the right side door open.

The room was dark, no artificial lights marring the interior. Candles covered every side altar, and the front was set with four large pillar lights, flickering deep into the center. The space was empty; Lee could spend his time undisturbed.

As he moved closer to the front altar, Lee smelled the intense fragrance of the burnt faeres leaf; he wondered how there could still be a supply of the incense after all this time. His eyes rested on an icon of Aurora; for whatever reason, he picked it up, carrying it with him to a spot he decided was as good as any. Semi-circular, tiered seating lined each side wall, but many preferred to sit on large pillows evenly spaced near the core of the room. Lee knelt on one pillow, then opted to swing his legs around, arms wrapped around his lower legs.

Pressing his forehead against his knees, Lee practiced a relaxation technique he'd learned a long time ago, from the military counselor who'd been assigned to him on Caprica, after…after Lee finally accepted he might never recover from his experiences aboard the Eos without guidance. Lee let the tension ebb from his frame, allowed his mind to shift where it wanted. And, ultimately, Apollo knew exactly where he would find himself, what he'd be compelled to walk through, because his mind had been pulling him inexorably to that point. Ready for the demons or not, it was apparently time—time to face them—because he wasn't prepared to lead a floating nation if he couldn't lead himself through this wilderness called the past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Sit Rep (past): Caprica, Two weeks Post-Op; Aileron Military Medical Center, Intensive Care**_

The first two weeks in the hospital were barely part of Lee's consciousness. Later, Zak and his father would fill in missing pieces, but Lee only remembered two days fairly clearly. For the first week, as Zak explained, Apollo had been kept in a medically induced coma. When they finally brought him out, the total length of time he'd been on a respirator—close to ten days—coupled with the severity of his bruised lungs and the recently repaired muscle tissue…it all meant he struggled to wean himself off the mechanical breathing machine.

In the end, it took five painstaking, anxiety-filled days, most of which Lee tried to blot out by sleeping and regularly requesting more morpha. Finally, the physician put him on an anti-anxiety drug; it shifted Lee's fear into a lower gear, enough to control his body. When the large tube was pulled from his throat, it took another two days for Lee's voice to return, and even then, it was a raspy, half-version of himself.

Everything was arduous, taking more energy than Lee thought he could find within him. His father or brother had to help him sit up, take a drink, move into a chair. He'd never felt so weak or tenuous…or afraid. His body was fragile, unwieldy and untrustworthy. He wondered if he'd ever recover enough to have a normal life, and the anguish at the thought of giving up flying was too much to absorb.

Worse, though—far worse—was his loss of will. Lee knew he needed to fight—push through the pain, take back the reins, move forward. And that was the problem—Lee didn't see any "forward" worth pursuing. He didn't want to "deal" with the searing torments haunting every physical movement. He definitely didn't want to deal with what had happened over the past eighteen months. But most importantly, he didn't want to deal with the reality that was "Zak and Kara."

Of course, Zak was oblivious—he had no reason to think Lee would not be delighted to learn his brother had fallen deeply in love with one Kara "Starbuck" Thrace. Tying together the snippets of conversation, it seemed Kara and Zak had "been there for each other" when the news of Lee's presumed KIA status first devastated all of them. Their closeness led to other feelings—more on Zak's part, he'd confessed to Lee—"but I won her over with my charm and 'skills,' if you know what I mean." Lee could only nod and smile weakly as a darkness sucked away whatever small energy his soul might have mustered.

It wasn't that Lee blamed either one of them, really. At this point, after everything that had happened to him, Lee seriously questioned what he had to offer—as a friend or a brother, let alone as a romantic partner for someone. But the loss was still real; Kara hadn't left room in her heart, believing Lee was dead. The way he felt internally, maybe that would have been the preferable outcome.

By the accounts of the doctors, over the past six months alone, he'd nearly died four times—just counting hospital stays and cardiac arrests. That didn't cover all of the near misses while fighting the rogues for the past year. So he had to marvel at the absurdity of it all…he'd survived all kinds of hell, only to land in the middle of another nightmare. And this was the worst one, because now, he had nothing resembling hope in his life—health gone, flying gone, career gone…love of his life gone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

On the fourteenth day of hospitalization, as Zak sat in a chair next to him, Lee found himself actually contemplating the ways he might be able to take his own life before anyone could stop him. He had come up with at least two plausible options, though he was still too weak to manifest either one. Maybe in another few days, he could just…

"Lee—Gods, what are you thinking about? You have such an eerie look on your face!" It was Zak; immediately, Lee felt guilty.

"Nothing. Just staring off into space, I guess."

"Yeah, I think you've done more than enough of that already. Come on, let me help you out of bed, and we'll go take a walk outside—you need to remember what the sun feels like."

"No, thanks, Zak. I'm too tired."

"Lee, for gods sakes—" Zak tamped down his exasperation. "Look, I realize you probably feel like this recovery thing is going to take forever…" Lee rolled his eyes.

"…but it won't, brother, I'm telling you. At least, not if you start on it now. And I'm here to help you, every step of the way." Zak gave him his best reassuring look.

"Damnit, Zak, I already told you, I won't allow you to burdened by this crap, my crap!" His brother's eyes flared in pain; Lee regretted his caustic outburst.

"I'm sorry. Gods, I'm so sorry. I know you want to…but Zak, you have everything going for you, and I want you to keep that momentum. This new trial flight program you're in, your friends…Kara…put all your energy into those things. It's up to me to…to handle my stuff."

Zak leaned over his brother at that statement, his body tense with anger, eyes boring into Lee's soul. "But you're not, Lee—you've given up. I see it in your eyes...hear it in your voice…and I can't just 'leave you alone!' "

Lee stared back, his eyes dead but pleading at the same time. "Zak. You can't fix this. I don't know if…if I can. One of us deserves to be happy, to have a full life, and it really ought to be you. You're the one who—" He couldn't go on. He wasn't able to cry any more, not since his torture on the rogue base ship, but he was paralyzed by emotion, nonetheless. He wasn't sure how to be persuasive when he had no spirit to draw upon either. Still, it was Zak…and Kara…and he had to try. He had to get his brother to focus on his own future.

"Look. I love you—you'll never know just how deep that goes. And I can't—I won't—be able to move on with my life until I'm sure you're on track with yours. You have to be weeks behind in your studies now, and in your sims practice. There's no time to lose, Zak, and you've worked too hard to lose ground now on my account."

"I'm not going back to the Academy unless you make me a promise."

"Fine. What is it?"

"Well, actually, there's three parts to it…"

"That's three promises, then, Zak—" Lee had to smile a little, despite himself.

"Fine. Three promises, then."

"Because the gods send things in threes…"

"Something like that. Do you agree?"

"Don't you think you need to—"

"Uh-uh. Promises first, explanations second. My life is on the line here, after all!" Zak smiled slightly.

Lee exhaled an audible sigh. "Okay. Give it to me."

"One, you start physical rehab in earnest—this afternoon." Lee expected that.

"Two, you agree to take medication for depression." Zak stared hard at his brother.

"Zak, no one's talked to me about…"

"They're afraid to. I'm not. You're in despair, Lee, and I know it seems real, but—you have so many gifts. You have a great future ahead of you, once you reach out for it again. And I want you to find love the way I have; you deserve that too."

Lee shook his head. He didn't believe a drug would fix the emptiness that possessed him now.

Zak pressed forward. "And Three—" he could feel his legs shaking as he tried to imagine how Lee would take this one.

"Three, you agree you'll call me or your doctor when you're thinking about taking your own life."

Lee's body curled up involuntarily. He knew his mouth was open; he had to consciously think to close it. How in the hell could Zak…and then Lee sighed again. He could because he _was_ _Zak_.

"I'm…I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you saw—" for the first time in months, Lee felt tears stinging his eyes.

Zak moved to the bed, enveloping Lee in a hug. "It was a hunch. Lee, I love you, and you've been through so much—I wish I could lift some of that burden off you now."

"Oh, Zak, please don't say that. I'm so grateful you don't have this—garbage—running around in your head. I desperately hope you never do." Zak was still hugging him; Lee's heart seemed to shudder forcibly in his chest. And then Lee felt it coming—that torrent of grief he'd been trying to hold at bay for months and months and months. He moved to get away from Zak, but his brother just grabbed him more tightly.

"You don't have to be Apollo, stoic leader and bearer of the Adama tradition here, okay? You're my brother, and you're hurt and angry and depressed and tired. There are no witnesses; you're safe to just be. So, Lee? Just. Be."

Lee sank his weight into his brother's arms, and for the first time in nearly a year, he let himself cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The days after that conversation were better. Actually, some of them were wretched, but mainly because of the physical pain; emotionally, while Lee couldn't say he felt much of anything, he would acknowledge he was at least on a more even keel; he hadn't had any more thoughts of suicide. Conversations were a chore, but somehow he managed to say a few things to each person—his mother, his father, his best friend from the Academy, Tom Warren, and Zak—to get by, as another day passed, and another.

He couldn't go "home" yet—not that he was anxious to be anywhere. He didn't have an apartment, so the only place he could stay would be at his mother's house, at least until he could make other arrangements. She seemed sober, these days, and she was dating someone, so it might not be so bad there, but he was hardly motivated to leave the rehab facility to live with his mother. Tom Warren had offered Lee a room at his place too, but now that Tom was married to Sarah, Lee figured he would just be a burden—they didn't need a negative, surly boarder hanging around.

Luckily, the military rehab hospital offered semi-normal sleeping quarters—they weren't cozy, but they weren't like a typical sick room either. When Lee had free time, he focused on reading. It kept his mind occupied, and he really wanted to get lost in stories of other people, pretend he was someone else…pretend he didn't care that Kara Thrace hadn't come to visit him once since he'd been in the hospital. Zak made excuses for her absences, but Lee was skeptical. He could conjecture all the reasons why she wouldn't, or couldn't see him, but in the end…all he was left with was the bitter taste of jealousy on his tongue that seemed to make him nauseous with anger and sorrow. He did the best he could to remove those thoughts and feelings—this was his brother he was jealous of!—but it was a constant struggle. Yeah, it was much safer to spend his days imagining he was in any other life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A loud knock on the door woke Lee; he wondered how long he had been dozing. Too sleepy to put himself through the still-painful process of sitting and standing, he yelled out.

"It's open."

As the door swung into the room, Lee was stunned to see Kara walk through. She must have caught the look of disbelief. "Is this a bad time? I can—"

"No, no, it's fine. I was just resting. Please come in." He figured she would need a clear statement to get her going again.

"There's a chair next to the window." He watched her movements as she lifted it and slid over towards him; he'd forgotten how lithe and precise she was with her body, how every action had athletic grace.

"Hi, Apollo." She smiled.

_Gods…don't look in her eyes, Lee…_ "Hey." He had no idea what to expect.

"Zak said you were making a lot of progress. Thought I'd see for myself."

"I'm surprised you had the time." _Oh, so bitter Lee…and you meant it how it sounded._

Kara locked eyes with him, her back arching slightly, but she passed by the comment.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't come by sooner, but getting this trial flight training program off the ground has been all-consuming."

"Congratulations, by the way—Zak described the program to me, and I think it's great—something the fleet really needs. Suits your talents well."

She studied his face, weighing the genuineness of his words. "Thanks, Apollo—it means a lot."

"I didn't know…about the program with the Academy or Zak's participation or anything…until I made it here planet-side. We didn't get any news or correspondence for more than six months."

"Half a year?"

"There were a lot of…security issues. It wasn't a safe place for transports."

Kara wanted to ask one question; she'd yielded to her compulsion, the one that drove her to come. She had an opening here, but wasn't sure of her footing, so she held back a little longer.

"I guess your first CAG duty turned into quite an adventure."

Lee scoffed. "Yeah. The stuff of legend." Kara tried to read his face, his eyes, but it dawned on her now how different Lee Adama really was; his soul no longer seemed reflected in that blue. Something akin to terror ran along her spine. Zak had been right; Lee was in a dark space.

"Too bad you can't get out of here yet; looks like you could use some ambrosia to warm your spirits." Kara reached out to lightly touch Lee's cheek. He leaned into her palm, startling her; she watched his eyes close, heard him sigh, and her heart jumped. Lee turned his head to rub lightly against her hand, then reached up and enclosed it within his own. Kara found her breathing becoming more shallow and rapid.

Neither said anything for several minutes. Lee brought her hand to his lips, kissing gently, and rested their clasped palms in his lap, looking down. "I'm glad to see you, Kara."

Kara nodded, afraid her words might betray more emotion than she could afford to share. But it was time to finally ask the question, the one that gave her no peace, the one chasing sleep away each night.

"I never heard from you, after that phone call. Why didn't you write to me?"

Lee's head snapped up. "What do mean? I sent a number of letters!"

"No. I'm quite sure I would have remembered, Apollo. Nothing ever came."

Lee seemed genuinely stunned. "Kara, I did write you. Sixteen letters, in all. And there was only one from you that ever came to me."

"Well, I wasn't going to keep writing to a ghost." Her voice was heated, until Kara realized what she'd said. "Oh Gods, Lee—I didn't mean…"

Lee dropped her hand and looked away, staring into the room. "That's how you thought of me, isn't it—a ghost."

"No. I only...I figured there had to have been several transports that made the runs in all this time, and when you didn't follow through, it seemed like you'd vanished."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I'm still a ghost. It certainly feels that way around you…and him." Lee shook his head slightly, disgusted he'd voiced that thought; he didn't want her to see how much it mattered, how devastating it was.

Kara stood up. "Zak and I…it was a gradual thing. He was—"

"Real? Alive? Better?"

"Lee, I didn't come to do this…"

"Don't frak around, Kara. Of course you came to do this. You wanted to ask the question, let me know how it's my frakup, that you couldn't leave room in your heart for me, since I didn't 'follow through.' So you moved on to the better Adama brother, the one who was tangible, readily available. Perfect."

The chair was flung, sliding hard into the wall. "Yeah. Perfect. Glad to see you're recovering, Apollo—certainly sharpened that tongue along the way."

"Godsdamnit, Kara, don't storm out—"

It was too late; she was already at the door. With tremendous strain, Lee hurtled himself off the bed, almost falling as he caught her arm. He clenched his teeth as the pain radiated in different directions along his torso.

She stood still, refusing to turn and look at him, her head tilted sideways, but towards the floor. "I really am happy to see you're healing, Apollo, and I'm…I'm sorry for what you've been through." The tone was hushed, with a tenderness that ached in Lee's heart.

Emotional tension lingered in the air, and Kara was motionless, though she didn't say more. He had the strong sense she wanted to tell him something, wanted to leave an opening for conversation later, but no words came. For Lee, he had a precipitous urge to pull her towards him, crush his lips against hers until she dropped heavy into his arms. Every muscle seemed to twitch with the anticipation of that next step. And he knew it was futile, a gesture he would never be able to make. Understanding that door to Kara was now closed off—it was unbearable. He dropped her arm in resignation, fighting hard to keep from falling back into his bed in despondency.

"Good-bye, Kara. Thanks…for coming to see me." _Don't let your voice waver…_

Kara turned quickly, flashing a smile, though he could see her heart wasn't in it. "Catch you around, Apollo."

He listened to the patter of her footsteps as the door groaned and whined in an agonizingly slow close.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Sit Rep (past): Caprica City, Two and One-Half Months Post-Op**_

Lee walked into the restaurant, scanning the room for Tom Warren. Spotting the man in a corner table, he sauntered over and put out his hand. "Hey, Tom."

"Lee—my gods! I didn't recognize you! What's with the handshake thing? C'mere." Tom gave him a broad bear hug. Gesturing for Lee to sit, Tom waved a waitress over.

"My friend here needs a beer. Stout ale, actually. I'll have the same."

"Thanks for the invite, Tom."

"Damn glad to see you, Apollo. I know we've talked by phone a few times, but I'm happy to lay eyes on you, at last. Well, what I can see, anyway—ditch the sunglasses, eh?"

Lee took them off, and Tom tried not to let his consternation show. The man hadn't smiled once since his arrival; he was unshaven, a ragged beard marring his angled features; and he walked slightly slumped over, no projection of confidence or energy. _Thank the gods Zak called me; we really have to help this guy find his way out of the darkness._

"So, Tom, when did you talk with Zak?"

"Huh? I haven't crossed paths with Zak—"

"Look, I know you've been a good friend, but I can smell Zak's involvement in setting this lunch up today."

_Better not to lie_…"He's worried about you. And so's Kara." Tom saw Lee's fists clench, and wished he could tell him more—that Kara called Tom herself, not even realizing Zak had talked to him already—and the torment in her voice had been enough for Tom to make quick arrangements for the plan he was putting in motion now.

"What did they think you could do about anything?" Tom couldn't believe the hardness in Lee's tone.

"Oh, I don't know—retrain you, maybe? You seem to have forgotten how to be among the living."

"That's just crap."

"Not from where I'm sitting…have you looked in a mirror lately? Listened to the tenor of your own voice?"

"You know, as much as I care about you, Tom, I don't need this. I'm going to—"

Tom pulled Apollo back down. "Okay. Not the way I planned to enjoy a meal with an old friend, either. Can we start over?"

"Yeah." Lee sunk back, slouching into the chair. _ Frak—tired already, and I've been here five minutes._

"Let's order, huh? Can't argue over eating!"

Lee nodded. They kept the conversation light while waiting for the food to arrive. Which meant, actually, that Tom did most of the talking; Lee didn't have anything "light" to share with others these days.

As they worked their way through lunch, Lee had to admit he was enjoying the company; he'd forgotten how wonderful Musket's sense of humor was, how he could make Lee laugh. When the conversation hit a lull, Apollo realized Tom was ready to try and broach his real agenda a second time; Lee decided he was better prepared to share a few things.

"Sooo…wanna tell me what they put you up to?" Lee was relaxed as he asked the question, letting Tom know it was alright to go ahead.

"Hey, no one put me up to anything, Apollo—I came up with an idea, s'all, and I'm asking you to hear me out before shooting it down."

"Okay."

"Remember the cabins I told you about, the ones my dad built for family reunions?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, this time of year is great to go out there—fishing, rock climbing, hiking trails. A few of the trees are still turning, and it gets refreshingly cold at night, while still good outdoor weather during the day."

"Were you thinking of fly fishing? I haven't done that in a good long while." Lee figured he was rusty, but the thought of a good reel in his hands, the stream whooshing past his knees…that did sound peaceful. He might find something like contentment in that.

"Exactly my point! You and I always had a great time out there, and I feel like cooking some trout."

"Well, that wasn't hard, Tom—geez! I can definitely get excited about a cabin trip."

"Great—Zak, Kara, and I thought we could go—"

"Wait…you didn't say anything about Zak and Kara coming along—"

"I didn't think that would be a prob—lem…oh. Oh." Tom put his hands over his mouth. "Frak, Lee—is that what part of this is about? I mean, I knew you were really into her a couple years ago, but…"

"Part of what? And no, it has nothing to do with Kara—that was a different life."

"Part of your melancholy and general detachment from everything, Lee. And I don't believe you—I can see it in your eyes. That's the first time they actually came alive, when you just said her name—it definitely has to do with Kara. Or more accurately, Kara and Zak."

Lee blinked. Damn the stinging, damn his eyes for betraying him. "Tom…a lot happened to me out there. Maybe too much happened. Yeah, I'm detached—and I intend to stay that way. I don't believe…forming attachments, planning for the future, that just gets in the way of fulfilling a soldier's responsibility. And being a soldier is just about the only thing I've got left, so I need to make the best of it.

"I've been through two months of the most grinding physical therapy, and I may have three more to look forward to before they'll even think about letting me in a cockpit. I'm in physical pain every _frakking_ second of every _frakking_ day, and I do _not_ have the energy for anything else. Least of all pining over that bitch of a pilot."

Tom whistled, low and thready. "Lee…" he couldn't even find a way to continue. His voice was thick when he spoke again. "Let's get out of here, alright? My place is only a couple of blocks away, and I've got a great deck we can sit out on."

Lee hesitated for a moment, then decided he'd like to talk to someone. A little, anyway. "It'll be slow going, walking—"

"I'm in stride with you, regardless, Lee Adama."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So where's Sarah?" Lee asked, as Tom handed him a very cold beer and they walked onto the deck.

"Oh, on deployment. Recon mission—supposed to be back in another three weeks."

"Sorry I missed the wedding. You guys make a great couple."

"Thanks, Lee." Apollo could feel the rest of the sentence unspoken—_"so did you and Kara."_

"Put your feet up, Adama, and tell me about what happened on Eos. I know it's classified, but you can skip all the technology/intelligence stuff and focus on you—what happened to _you_ up there?" Tipping back his beer, Lee drained it half-way. Then he started. At the beginning…which was really the first night he spent with Kara.

Two and a half hours later, as dusk was beginning to envelop them, Lee fell quiet, and Tom finally moved. He'd listened intently as Lee went along, interrupting only a few times to clarify certain points, absorbing the information. As his friend finished his story, Tom gestured for them to move inside so he could fix something for dinner. They prepared the meal without further conversation; both felt drained. At last, after eating, each spread out on a couch in Tom's living room.

"So do you want to hear my thoughts on the whole experience?" Tom didn't want to invade Lee's mental space, but he hoped he might be able to start giving Apollo a rope to climb out of the well.

"Sure, Tom—you know me as well as anyone could."

"Well, I won't give you pabulum; you've made it through a gruesome ordeal, and you'd have to be a different person after all of that. I won't argue you should be in a certain place about things either; I can't project how I'd respond, and no one should put that burden on you, tell you your milestones.

"I would urge you to consider talking to one of the counselors on base, Lee. You said the docs put you on an anti-depressant, but there's so much to process—I know I'd need help to stop the nightmares and regain a sense of perspective.

"I want you to do this, take this step, because you have so little faith now, in yourself or what you can achieve, and that just kills me. It really does." Tom stopped; he didn't want to lose his composure, knowing it would upset Lee. When he was certain he could talk evenly, Tom moved on to the next topic.

"I know how you feel about your brother, Lee, and he's great. He's also stronger than you give him credit for. Tell him what originally happened between you and Thrace. You have enough burdens to carry, and Zak will be sensitive enough to respect your feelings. He'll understand you need time to process the emotions to move forward; for you, the relationship with Kara ended up frozen at a certain point in time—you were cut off from any sense of normal life progressing. Zak and Kara had more opportunity to stay in the flow of daily life, so it's different for them."

"You're pretty good at this—thinking about changing careers?" Lee felt awkward, and wanted to cover for it.

"I can tell, you aren't going to do it, and I do get why, Lee—truly. But the other option left to you is to make a play for her, and I didn't think you'd listen to my reasoning on that."

"Tom, he's my brother!"

"And you're in love with his girlfriend, Apollo!"

"I never said anything about—"

"Gods, Lee, do you think you had to? You are so tied up in knots about her, you can't see straight. I…if you think you're going to be able to move on without dealing with her, with them, you're deluding yourself. Don't make it larger than life, Lee—I'm serious. If you talk about it, you'll find a way through it. If you keep it locked inside, let it fester, it will become the monster that owns you. In fact, it already did…already does."

"If Zak ever learned about my past with Kara, he'd never trust either of us. I can't bear the thought of that. And Thrace…she wrote me off a long time ago. I'll be damned if I'll let her know it affected me this much, when she clearly wasn't moved the same way."

"You don't know that. Believe me, Starbuck can always surprise. Her words and actions are often a study in contrasts."

"What are you saying, Tom? You can't be honestly suggesting I –"

"I'm not 'suggesting' anything, Apollo. I'm encouraging you to stop torturing yourself with the idea you didn't mean a lot to her; I think you're wrong. I'm not saying there's something in the present, I'm just telling you to give both of you more credit for the past."

Lee nodded. He didn't know if he could shift his perspective that far, but he would try.

"Two more things…are you up for them?"

"Why not…"

"Let me help you with the physical therapy exercises. I can't promise less pain—it will probably have to get worse before it gets better—but I have some ideas on how to take the process further, really bring your body back. You need that, I think—the sense your feet are planted firmly under you, and more importantly, that you can handle a stick in your bird like it was molded to you again."

"I'd be very grateful for your help, Tom. You're a good friend."

"You haven't heard my last recommendation yet." He smirked. Lee braced himself.

"Come on the trip, Lee. There are two cabins; you won't be subjected to the worst of it, seeing them, and I can keep Thrace occupied when you want to spend some time with Zak."

"Tom! What's the method to your madness? After everything we've already talked about tonight…"

"Like I said—don't make her, what you had, larger than life. Test the waters—let opportunities present themselves for you to have a heart-to-heart with Zak…or with Kara. 'Love less, trust more,' as the saying goes. Give yourself a chance to heal at least this one part of your past; it might be the key to healing the other things. I've got your back—you won't be without support and someone to run interference, if needed."

"We take two vehicles, then—so I can leave if it's harder than…than I can handle right now.'

"Not a problem."

"You've convinced me, Musket—how, I don't know, but I'll take a stab at 'rejoining the land of the living.' " Lee finally smiled. He felt lighter; maybe there was a way to get past the baggage, strive for contentment, if nothing else.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep (present): Battlestar Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks after New Caprica Occupation**

Lee pulled his head up, stretching his neck backwards before casting his arms wide to fully re-align his back. Just remembering the physical injuries from those days brought back phantom pains. He rubbed his eyes, getting to his feet. He was cheating; the demons were just around the mental corner where he'd stopped. It was all he could tolerate, though, for the moment. Lee sighed; just touching this part of the story—their story—was further than he'd managed in a long while. The next chapters…the next chapters were the ones that established the pattern. That Lee-Kara pattern: _approach, withdraw, approach, hurt, withdraw, heal, approach_…endlessly.

It was time to get some sleep; he figured he could manage that now. The beast had been fed; he had some time before the torment began again, when he'd have to dig deeper into the past.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	11. Ch 10B: Beware the Ides of March Part B

Sit Rep: New Caprica, Twelve Weeks After Occupation

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Twelve Weeks After Occupation**

Kara was sitting at a table, eating breakfast. She was savoring the taste of the food, now that she had the ability. For the last several days, the Cylon model Simon had tapered her off most of the drug concoction she'd been subjected to for weeks, and many things were coming back. All five senses were functioning properly again, and she had fine motor skills to use for utensils or a writing pen. It was possible to walk without shuffling her feet, and the removal of the cast gave her a feeling of lightness. Her memories remained a scrambled mess, but at least she could speak in full sentences when she wanted to communicate something. It was delightful; she tried not to think about the sorrowful meaning behind just being grateful to function as a human again.

Able to sequence events and perceive things around her now, Kara realized she wasn't in the detention center any longer. The rescue attempt—something Kara knew facts about, more than remembered—had obviously led the Cylons to conclude they should move her. Kara was willing to bet Laura was housed somewhere nearby. They were both being held in rooms within the Cylon headquarters building. Kara understood they were being kept prisoners, despite the change in scenery—she was hardly free to leave. Nonetheless, Simon had supplied things for her to occupy her time, and she was left alone—no questions, no abuse, no lectures. She was allowed to paint, write, or model things with clay; usually Kara spent her time sculpting. It was hard to say why, other than it gave her something to do with her hands—she could punch or caress the soft material, manipulate it to her will. Something in her control, at last.

But uncomfortable thoughts pressed against her consciousness. She hadn't seen Cylon-Lee for these last days, and on the one hand, she was relieved. Another part of her, though, seemed—she shuddered to say it—drawn to him. Kara had learned all about "reverse-attachments" at the Academy, how an abused prisoner could enter an altered mental state, believing he/she was emotionally invested in the abuser. All of Cylon-Lee's tricks—his name, which she could no longer remember in full or properly; forcing her to use the word "love" with him—mixed in with the long periods of over-medication and physical torture—Cylon-Lee's strategy had actually worked, on some level. Kara tried to rationalize what was happening to her, tried to block the unwanted feelings. She failed.

And so it was back to the clay, hour upon hour. When she tired of that, Kara moved on to painting. For some reason, though, this activity didn't soothe. The minute she lifted the brush, images started rushing forward, most of them involving the blue-eyed man she now remembered was Apollo. Kara could recall his given name although she was unable to utter it or associate it with the person. Cylon-Lee's version of her life had superceded her own memories; sometimes, when she was sleeping, Apollo's face would transform into Cylon-Lee's, and then back again. Deep down, Kara understood that had something to do with how she'd tried to cope; all the times Cylon-Lee climbed on top of her and used her body sexually, she'd closed her eyes to imagine someone else from another time and place. But the drugs and the prolonged isolation wore down her mind, blurred the lines between memory and hallucination and reality. When Kara painted, she had no confidence the images she placed on the canvas were wholly her own—what was imaginary, what was fact?

On the third day, scanning her work to date, Kara did have a sort of revelation. She finally discerned she'd been painting a wooded area with two cabins. Since the subject had been repeated on a number of canvases, Kara wrestled with the possible significance.

The morning of the fourth day, a whole package of images and conversations slammed into conscious awareness; suddenly, a number of clear and real memories came back. These weren't necessarily all pleasant memories, but they were vivid and pure—even the emotions remained pure. It came as no surprise these recollections centered around Apollo; as each day passed, with the drugs further behind her, she understood the core of her identity had been intertwined with this person. The feelings coming to the surface were a welcome change from the flatness that had defined her life for months, so she gave into them. The only way to manage this flood, however, was through writing; on the fifth day, Kara began committing her memories to paper. It was easier to handle her emotions if she wrote about the events in third person, so Kara opted to script her experiences as a documentary. What she grasped, as she made her way through the story, would stay with her long afterward.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_**Sit Rep (past): Caprica City, Three Months after Apollo's return **_

"Frak! Frak! Frak!" Kara was frantically trying to find her climbing gear, which for some reason, she'd left in her Academy office. _Must have been from that last-minute excursion with Freezer_, she thought, as she combed through her locker. She always kept different types of sports gear handy, because she liked to be able to take a break with boxing practice or swimming or whatever else her body was screaming for when she was pissed off at some problem…or somebody. She spotted the climbing bag underneath the boxing gloves; thank the gods at least she'd kept all of the equipment together in the bag.

Brushing the hair from her face, Kara stood up and flinched as she caught someone standing at the door.

"You need something?" She didn't recognize the petty officer, and she wasn't in the mood for some bureaucratic nonsense. Kara was supposed to meet up with Zak in twenty minutes to hit the road for the cabins, and traffic was awful this time of day.

"Uh, yes, Sir. I mean, I was told to bring you your mail before you left, since you'll be gone a few days."

"Well you almost missed that window, soldier. Now, if you don't mind—" she stuck her arm out abruptly.

"Of course." The man hurriedly stuffed the small bundle into Kara's hand, saluted, and left.

She shoved the bundle into her inner jacket pocket as she swooped up her bag. _Gods; like I want to be reminded about work while I'm on break…._

Kara jogged to the car and spun out the wheels as she set out for her apartment. The traffic was clogging every major road. _I can't wait to get out in the open, away from all this crap! _Another thought came to her, unbidden…_and see Apollo_.

She honked her horn, suddenly angry at the driver ahead of her, angry at herself for those subconscious thoughts that pushed through. She couldn't explain why she was having them…hadn't she learned everything she needed to when she went to see Apollo two months ago? He'd lied about writing to her, and he hated her for taking up with his brother. He wasn't the same guy she'd known, anyway, not by a long-shot. The Apollo she saw in passing—he never hung around long if Kara was in the vicinity—that Apollo was cold, withdrawn…lifeless.

And yet, she'd called Tom herself, after the last time she got a good look at Apollo, after she saw the tears in Zak's eyes when he recounted his most recent conversation with his brother. Things hadn't improved over time. Apollo was thin, and appeared to be in constant pain. Zak tried to get him to talk, go out and do things, see some of his old friends, to no avail. "It's like no-one's home, Kara," he'd told her. "All that passion, the love of flying, his idealism—as though it never existed. I don't know him anymore. And I can't bear it…I miss him so much…"

She'd tried to comfort Zak, saying all the reassuring things Kara knew were the same phrases used by the military medical corps when talking with the families of vets from the Cylon War. In her gut, though, she remembered the terror that ran through her when she visited Apollo at the rehab center. He was spiraling downward; despite the distance that had grown between them, Apollo was too important to her to just stand by and watch it happen. So Kara reached out to Tom, despite knowing she'd raise a lot of questions in the man's mind by calling him out of the blue. To her relief, he'd been open and warm, ready to help. A wilderness trip certainly hadn't been on her mind as a solution; tagging along on that trip seemed a recipe for tension. But Zak and Tom had been persuasive, and Zak wanted the moral support, so she'd acquiesced to the plan.

Something Tom said the previous day, however, as they were finalizing the trip, increased the knots in her stomach. It wasn't just the words themselves, but the implications of them that put her on edge. Kara suspected Apollo had confided to Tom the details of his time aboard the Eos; the compassion in Tom's voice, the lengths he was going to—they hinted that the knowledge was sobering. Tom clearly understood the depth of the psychic damage, and he was wasting no time trying to reverse the spiral. What she didn't expect, when she talked to him, was that he wanted her to play a more active role in those efforts.

"_Tom, I'm still not sure this is a good thing, me tagging along. Apollo and I…we didn't ever spend that much time together, and—"_

"_Kara, don't BS me. I was there, remember? I saw you two interact—I know damned well the time you two __did__ spend together was anything but casual. It's not about the frequency, it's about the intensity, and you two could fuel a whole battlestar with the energy you generated."_

"_Gods, Tom, don't ever talk like that around Zak, okay? It was a long time ago, and not half as dramatic as you make it sound…"_

"_Starbuck, you surprise me, you really do. I'm married to Sarah—your best friend from the Academy—I know a thing or three about your past with Apollo. Don't marginalize it…have the backbone to respect the relationship for what it was."_

"_Tom, it was never a frakking relationship!"_

"_Kara Thrace, I have no idea…okay, I take that back, I have some idea, but…it's a mystery to me why you keep re-writing the history here. And, to be honest, I don't give a frak, as it relates to you alone. But right now, this is about something bigger than the neurotic behaviors of Starbuck. Our friend is in a mental prison cell—one he doesn't know how to escape. You know it—that's why you called me. So, you need to come on the godsdamned trip and at least give him an opportunity to talk to you, make amends, make peace. From where I'm looking, you could also benefit from putting forth the effort. He needs you, Kara, needs all of us pulling for him. I have to believe the almighty Starbuck has enough strength to manage that."_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Motherfrakking idiot—learn to drive!" Kara had nearly gotten side-swiped by a truck. _No more absent-mindedness, Thrace…_

She forced other thoughts about the upcoming days out of her mind. Fifteen minutes later, back at home, Zak started dragging suitcases and coolers of food out to her car. They loaded up quickly, neither saying much; Kara could tell Zak was also nervous about this trip. He was desperate to reconnect with his brother, and it felt like time was running out to get through to Apollo.

In the car and racing at the usual Starbuck speed, they both relaxed a little. Four hours later, they reached the Warrens' land and pulled up into the gravel outside the cabins. It was late in the evening; everyone had agreed ahead of time, if the other pair arrived past 10 pm, they would just catch up as a whole group at breakfast the following morning.

Kara smiled as she walked up to the heavy log door. She'd stayed here once, her last vacation before the Chiron tour of duty, and it was wonderful—cozy and simple. The crisp night air felt good on her face. She could smell the smoke from the fire in the other cabin, and when she looked up, it was astonishing how many stars twinkled back at her. The moon was only a sliver, leaving the stars to blanket the darkness.

"Kara, c'mon—I'm tired, and we've got to build a fire before we'll be able to sleep."

"Okay, okay—I'll light some of the lamps and see what's in there, to get started."

"Don't forget—there's two fireplaces—you'll want to build both."

"Yeah." She leaned in to move the door. It was pitch black inside; she fumbled for the lamp on the mantle. A few moments later, able to make her way around the furniture and find the right tools, Kara built a good blaze in the main fireplace. She went into the other room, noting appreciatively the large bed against the far wall. That task done, it was time to start up the generator. The Warrens built the place with care; they'd wanted a genuine 'cabin in the woods' experience, which meant no electricity or communication equipment. They had a fondness for hot showers, though, and it was the only luxury they didn't want to do without. As a compromise, Tom's father installed a gas generator, which ran two things: a water heater and a refrigerator. He'd figured, while they were at it, they might as well enjoy the luxury of cold beers and pre-baked pies too.

When Kara found the generator, she had to admit again, Tom Warren was a thoughtful soul. He'd already started everything; there'd be hot water for a shower, if she wanted one. After rushing around all day and driving a long time, that sounded like an idea too good to pass up.

When she stepped back into the house, she found Zak putting things away.

"Hey—Tom was nice enough to get the water heater going. Wanna join me for a shower?"

Zak walked over to kiss her quickly before sitting on the bed to take off his boots. "Thanks, but I really just want to crawl under the covers. I busted my ass to finish all of my studies today so I could leave with a clear conscience, and I just can't make it any further."

"Well good. You can make sure the bed's warm for me, then; I promise to come back smelling of citrus." She grinned as she hunted for a few toiletries and stepped into the small bathroom.

Five minutes later, warm streams of water flooding down her back, Kara found herself returning to the conversation with Tom. She wondered what it would be like, sitting in the same room with Apollo for more than a few minutes; would he even talk? He'd have to acknowledge her, of course, with other people present, because Apollo was never outright rude, but carrying on an actual dialogue—it would feel foreign at first. If it even happened…

She let out a long sigh as she admitted she wouldn't know what questions to ask him. Kara had studiously avoided learning any details about Apollo's life over the past nearly two years. It was just easier. Kara wasn't even sure she could handle knowing more…she'd be led to imagine, then, what it was like for Apollo during that time, and she didn't want to imagine anything, feel anything, experience anything. The emotional distance felt normal now. Gods, how was she supposed to do what Tom was suggesting—take a more active role in helping Apollo? And could she protect herself from the pain if she opened any emotional doors with him again?

The hot water running out, Kara reluctantly stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair several times since there was no other way to dry it. She slipped into her sweats and tiptoed softly into the bedroom, soothed by the sound of Zak's light snoring. Under the sheets, she felt Zak's arms immediately pull her close; he never missed the opportunity. Sleep would be a welcome relief from the constant chatter in her brain about what would happen next.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first two days, they only spent time as the group of four when gathering for meals. Tom and Apollo went fly-fishing, while Kara and Zak took advantage of the rock climbing on a nearby ridge. The evenings were actually a lot of fun; Kara and Tom found out that Apollo and Zak could sing, and they all learned that Tom knew how to play guitar. Kara, naturally, had learned how to play the drums in high school, so they messed around for a while, until they found a few songs they could all perform together. Tom had a wicked sense of humor, and he shared stories about some of the members of the Admiral Board that had everyone laughing breathlessly. But Kara noticed Musket carefully avoided tales about their Academy days, and Zak avoided mention of childhood escapades with his brother. Apollo avoided mention of anything at all…he remained quiet whenever the group focused on conversation, though she was delighted to see him laugh, at least. The beard was gone, and his hair was trimmed; he was making an effort to look more like himself.

And then it happened. Somehow, the word "viper" came up, which led to a discussion about simulation flights, that later led to elaborations on the life of a viper pilot. Zak started sharing a few stories about Kara's rants while aboard the Chiron, elaborating on the number of times she'd called him while drunk. Even in the dim light of the fire, Kara could see the change in Apollo's countenance. His body language was protective, with his jaw set in a stony position. She was staring without realizing, until Apollo's gaze caught her own; the look of suffering was palpable, as though he'd been hit in the face. Too late, she broke the contact; her face burned with the sensation of his eyes upon her…_just as before, at the Academy..._and then Apollo stood up. A quick whisper in Tom's ear, and he was gone—as though darkness in the corners of the room had swallowed him whole.

Zak was stricken. "Tom, is he okay? What happened? What did I—"

"No, Zak, don't think like that. You didn't do anything. Your brother's just…trying to process things. We all learned about the psychological responses to trauma in battle; he just had a flashback, that's all."

"That's hardly minor, Tom—I should go apologize—"

"Zak, please trust me. It's better if we let him get some rest right now. He won't be able to share with you what happened, not yet, and he'll just feel guilty for it."

Kara spoke up. "Isn't there…maybe he needs to see…you know, talk to a military counselor."

"Believe me, I'm trying to get him to go. There's so much—" Tom caught himself. It wasn't his place to reveal any specifics of what had happened, even if he thought it might actually make it easier for the others to help Apollo go forward.

"I'll try to bring it up to him too, Musket. I'm so worried." Zak's shoulders curved forward; it weighed on him, the feeling of helplessness, when Apollo had always managed to come through for his brother.

"Look, I know Apollo wouldn't want us all in here talking about him. Why don't we get some sleep; I'd like to suggest the four of us go out fly fishing together for a few hours tomorrow. I think Apollo'll be up for that, now that we've been here a few days."

Zak moved to go. To Kara's surprise, Tom asked her to stay behind a minute.

"Go on, Zak—I'll be there shortly."

Tom waited until the door was firmly closed, then took Kara by the arm and lightly guided her towards the fireplace.

"What is it, Tom? You're scaring me a little."

"Kara, spend some time with Apollo tomorrow—stand next to him, sit next to him, start a conversation."

"He isn't comfortable with that, and frankly, neither am I—why do you want to force this?"

"Because that's the whole point, Kara, facing the uncomfortable and moving past it! Frak, you looked right at him—didn't you see the pain?"

"That was—"

"Don't you dare tell me you thought that was about vipers and flying, Kara, or I'm going to think Apollo was right about you after all." Tom's voice was angry, though quiet; it only made Kara feel more defensive.

"Stop acting like this is my fault, Tom. Zak brought up the Chiron, in passing—"

Kara blinked, unbelieving, as she realized too late the movement in Tom's arm. The slap was hard; she staggered back, cupping the right side of her face as she stared in a mixture of hurt and fury at the man in front of her.

Tom moved quickly to her side. "Oh, Kara, godsdamn it all…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forgive me…I've never done that before. I don't know how I lost control like that." Fear filled his eyes.

Kara stood fully upright, cockiness in her features. "Don't feel so bad, Musket. I seem to have that effect on men. Get me some ice, huh?"

He was back in an instant; the cold felt good on her cheekbone.

"Mind telling me which word, exactly, Apollo used to describe me?"

"Kara…"

"I have a feeling it was the word 'bitch.' Been called worse." The recognition on Tom's face told her she was right; her gut clenched in the realization Apollo had actually used that word and meant it about her.

"That's got to be a record, though, for Apollo—according to Zak, he never curses anyone. Too honorable to do it." Her voice was suddenly bitter and anguished.

"Tom, I'll spend time with him, even if it's just two hours of silence. But I don't get it, why you want me to, why you think it will be positive in any way."

"You still don't realize what triggered his sudden departure this evening, do you."

"Nope."

"While you're there, in all that quiet Kara, try to figure it out. You need this as much as he does."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unexpectedly, the next day turned out much better than Kara originally projected. They waded out into the streams while it was still cold outside; Zak volunteered to be the one to refresh the coffee pot over a fire and bring hot thermoses out to everyone at regular intervals. All four stayed quiet in the first hour or so, concentrating on catching fish; the trout were active that morning, and they had each hooked one by the time the sun reached full strength. After an hour of warming up on the river bank next to the fire, Tom suggested he and Kara explore the hiking trail; to her relief, the two spent the walk discussing the details of Kara's embedded viper training program, and he brought her up to date on Sarah's experiences during her latest mission.

When they made it back to the makeshift camp, Apollo and Zak were talking and laughing; the exchanges looked almost normal. The four gathered for lunch. Tom was happy to see the two brothers had already cleaned the trout and stoked the fire; he was hungry.

Beers were passed around as they dug into the meal, and for the first time, Apollo started participating in the general conversations. To Kara, it was almost heady, hearing his voice in a steady stream; she hadn't understood how much she'd missed it. Apollo even asked her a few direct questions, warming her heart even more.

By the time Tom offered to show Zak the animal reserve section of the property, Kara was calm about the prospect of spending time alone with Apollo. She smiled at Tom as he looked back before heading up the path, so he would know she was ready.

Kara and Apollo prepared for another round of fly fishing; Lee noticed the clouds rolling in.

"It looks like we might get rain—do you want to head back?" Apollo was looking at Kara, a little uncertain what he should do.

"Hell no, Apollo! We're already up to our thighs in water…a little on top of our heads isn't going to make a lot of difference!" She winked at him.

"That was my thought too, Starbuck. My thought too."

They waded in and moved a little further upstream from their morning spot. The storm unleashed a steady stream of rain, which brought the fish out again; within forty minutes, they'd picked up four more trout.

"Guess we'll be enjoying these for lunch tomorrow. It tastes so good to feast on fresh fish—I really missed that on the Eos."

"I can't imagine what it was like to be in deep space for that long, Apollo."

"It was great, actually, for a while. But the absence of supply transports really puts a damper on the spirits of the crew—the food choices became more and more limited. By the end, we were eating protein bars most of the time, with only one actual meal a day. And there was nothing…new. No contact with anyone from home, no 'care packages' to let you know people still remembered you were out there…just a constant focus on survival, preventing guerilla attacks. The last seven or eight months are a blur, y'know? I just remember this 'CAP—CAP and battle—sleep—CAP' cycle. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever stop feeling tired."

Kara stood still, thinking. She was reviewing the previous night's conversation in her mind. In a flash, she realized what might have upset Apollo; Zak had been going on and on about Kara's frequent calls to him from the Chiron. Apollo couldn't have any of that, the freedom and normalcy she'd experienced. _And I never even wrote him a second time…_

"I'm sorry it was so isolating out there, Apollo." She hesitated, and then lightly touched his hand for a moment.

"Thanks, Kara."

He shifted his body a little further away from her after that exchange but started asking her questions. She realized Apollo wanted to change the subject and move the focus away from him; while Kara wasn't normally thrilled to be the one expected to do the talking, she was willing to carry the conversation for a while. Longer, if need be.

By the time Zak and Tom returned, Apollo and Kara had finished gathering things and were packing up the items to head back. Everyone was soaked; they needed to grab hot showers and warm up with a little ambrosia.

That night, Tom announced he wanted to go rock climbing, and Zak and Kara were eager to come along. Musket looked over at Apollo, though—he was worried about leaving him alone, and Apollo was still in no shape to be hauling himself up the side of a cliff face.

"Tom, I know what you're thinking, but don't worry. I brought some reading along, and I'd like to finish the latest Josh Perrin mystery." Apollo smiled, hoping to add reassurance.

"I'm jealous, Apollo—how'd you get a copy of that book already?"

"Advanced copy—a buddy of mine managed to smuggle one out for me."

"Friends in low places, eh?" Tom smirked.

"Something like that. Anyway, I can certainly occupy myself."

"It's settled then. Zak and Kara—let's leave early in the morning—it takes a while to make it to the part of the range I wanted to show you."

They all went to bed soon after; the day had been a long one, and tomorrow would require some stamina.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Late in the afternoon of the following day, Apollo was shocked to see Tom and Zak on either side of Kara as she hobbled towards the cabin.

"What happened?"

Zak told him the story, finishing with the obstacles they'd overcome during the trek back.

"So the upshot is, Kara's knee is re-injured? Do we need to head back to town so a physician can take a look at it?"

Kara glared at Apollo. "It's not an injury, it's just a flare-up. Put some ice on it, and I'll be fine."

"Now that's the Starbuck I remember…"

"Shut the frak up and let's eat, okay? I'm cranky when I'm hungry!"

They all laughed at that, and started preparations for dinner, while Kara put her leg up on the couch and Zak wrapped the knee in a ring of ice bound in cloth.

Knowing she couldn't do anything fun or challenging the next day anyway, Kara helped herself to quite a bit of ambrosia as the night wore on. They played several hands of triad and marveled at how Kara could beat everyone, even when drunk. At last, Zak moved to pick her up off the couch so he could carry her back to their own cabin.

"Now that you're a bit defenseless, Starbuck, I need to tell you I'm going out with Tom again tomorrow. We didn't exactly get to explore the ridge, and I've decided I want to see the waterfall beyond Marton Cliff."

"But…but that would take too long, silly—two days!"

"Three, actually."

Apollo shot a hard look at Tom. "That's—that's a little long to be gone…I mean, we've been having a lot of fun, the four of us here—it would be a shame to cut that short."

Kara shot a quizzical look at Apollo—he sounded panicked. Hadn't they been getting along well together?

"Zak really wants to go, Apollo." _ Tom sounds like he's pleading with Apollo to understand_, thought Kara.

"But you promised—" Apollo swallowed his words.

"Promised what?" Zak was confused by his brother's sudden shift in mood.

Tom cleared his throat. "I promised I'd wait to go to the waterfall until Apollo was in better shape." Apollo's back tensed; there was no way to escape the lie, but he still couldn't accept Tom was going back on his word.

"Well, brother, I can wait—"

"No, Zak, no. It was a foolish thing to focus on—I shouldn't have even suggested there was a problem. It's supposed to be spectacular, and you might not get another chance to see it for a while, especially at this time of year. Please go—you'll have a terrific experience with Tom."

Zak was willing to leave it there; he wanted to make the trip, and he didn't feel like sacrificing his best opportunity.

For Kara's part, she watched the word ping-pong with a wary eye. She was pretty certain the conversation behind the conversation was about something else entirely, but it still wasn't clear what the subtext was really about. She was too drunk to focus on that right now; sleep seemed more important.

"Zak, can we go now? I'm so droopy…."

Zak giggled. "Droopy? That's not a Kara Thrace word. You really are out of it tonight, honey."

"Yeah. G'night everyone."

Apollo decided he wasn't going to grill Tom after they left; he was capable of handling a few days alone with Thrace. They were talking, after all, and he didn't have to spend the whole time with her anyway. He could take walks on the hiking path himself—he was strong enough for that—and they could meet up for dinners or something. It would work.

"Apollo, I really didn't mean to break my promise to you…Zak was just so 'puppy-dog'—you know how he is—"

"It's fine, Tom. Honestly. I was freaked out, at first, but I don't have to spend the whole day or all of the time with her, and we're…we're getting along, at least."

"I noticed that. How's it feel?"

"Good. Better than good."

Tom slapped Apollo on the back. "I'm really happy to hear that from you, Apollo. You seem—this return to nature appears to be working its magic."

"Yeah. I'm starting to feel like that space thaw is finally happening."

Tom tapped his back again with enthusiasm. "Space thaw" was a term pilots used for the transition that took place once a soldier returned planet-side, after more than six months in space. Part of it was an actual physical sensation—people reported they felt cold to the bone for several months after a long tour in space, and it always took time to get used to your legs again, moving in a heavier gravity. The other part was emotional—something about the time apart, in a world so contained and removed from normal life, tended to harden someone's core. After six months, being on land seemed alien, and the person often felt disenfranchised from those around him or her—civilians were people involved in a breadth of activities unavailable while on a battlestar. To the returning pilot, it could overwhelm the senses at first.

"Stick with me, Apollo—we're gonna to get through this—together."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kara slept in late, and her head was splitting when she woke up alone. She opted to remain in the cabin the rest of the morning, drinking coffee and watching the wildlife scampering around the trees. After lunch and a shower, she contemplated what to do next. The expected thing would be to visit Apollo's cabin and see if he wanted to do something, but she just couldn't feel settled enough yet to proactively go over there. Something about the previous night's conversation bothered Kara, though she still wasn't sure what she'd picked up on. Wishing she had something to read that would occupy her mind for a while, maybe give her the calm to go and talk to Apollo later, an odd thought struck Kara—she remembered something about the petty officer handing her a bundle of correspondence.

_That'll do_, she decided. Work-related material would definitely calm her nerves. She sifted through the various piles of clothes, looking for the jacket she'd been wearing the day they arrived; finally, her hand latched onto the right item. She pulled the stack out of her pocket, grabbed another cup of coffee as she stretched out on the couch, and began to scan what was there.

To her surprise, Kara realized there was actually a package included; she pulled it out, studying all the scrawls on the front. _Damn, this thing has been in transit for a while—some idiot thought I was still on the Chiron_. Two addresses had been crossed out—temporary places she'd been in, only a few days each—and then her current work address at the Academy was written in. She stared at the original writing, belonging to the person who'd sent it to the Chiron—it was completely unfamiliar. _No way to solve the mystery without opening it…_

Sixteen letters dropped into her lap. She gasped as she realized the handwriting—Apollo's precise script. They were even dated on the outside—going back a year and a half. _Oh, gods, oh gods, oh gods…I was so wrong. So wrong. Why did I think he would lie to me?_ Then a loose note caught her eye—the writing matched the original addressor on the front of the package.

"_Lt. Thrace—please accept my personal apologies for the delay in getting these to you. Don't be hard on Captain Adama—it wasn't his fault at all. Our CAG seems to think quite highly of you—hope I meet you in person one day. Yours, Cmdr. George Thornton."_

Her hands were shaking badly, and Kara could feel this surge of emotion threatening to overtake her. For the next half hour, she just sat there, staring down at the envelopes, afraid. Kara wanted to read them—had to read them—but she was terrified of what came afterward. Another set of thoughts hit her hard, as she understood more of the meaning behind Tom's words over the past few days. He knew…knew the letters were real. Knew Apollo was still invested.

Or not. Maybe the letters said Apollo wanted nothing to do with her, and later he regretted sending them. Maybe…

_Kara Thrace, just open the frakkin' letters! You'll understand it all soon enough._

She decided to read them in the order written; they covered nearly every month of his tour of duty and would provide a clearer picture of what he'd been through.

Kara decided to go lock the door before she began. She had to be sure Apollo couldn't interrupt this process. It would be important to take all the words in, absorb the meaning for a while. It would also require preparation to face him, explain she'd read his correspondence after all this time.

The first letter was short and fairly light in content; Apollo was clearly trying to project an air of confidence and detachment—casually thinking of her.

The next three were equally brief, but completely different in tone. He'd apparently determined it would be better to be more forthcoming, or he couldn't help himself—she wasn't sure. These letters stirred the feelings in her soul she'd tried to ignore for the better part of two years; the words almost felt like a caress. The passion inherent in their bond was coming back to her conscious awareness now, page by page—and the aching she remembered from those first months after he left washed over her as though still fresh. It was in his heart, too—the same as she'd heard in his voice when he called—the pain of separation.

One passage from this set of letters pierced her. Apollo had written, _"I'm anguished by the feeling I altered something in leaving you, violated some law of the gods. I don't even believe in them, and yet—I can't escape the conviction I'm supposed to be with you, Kara. I have no right to even say these things—I know I sound like an obsessed schoolboy—but I'm not given to such confessions, and I know that means something unusual has happened here, at least to me. I feel so trapped by these circumstances—unable to call to hear your voice, stymied from even sending letters that might reach you regularly—it seems so cruel, this unexpected hell. I never believed I could feel such strong emotions, and gods help me, I don't know what to do about them—not out here, cut off from everything."_

Kara's tears were falling in a steady stream after reading that. The crying was still of the quiet kind, however; she guessed the deeper wails vibrating in her gut would come later.

In the following four letters, Apollo had obviously been involved in several battles by then, and he told her he'd lost at least ten people on his team. He was also dealing with other types of anguish, at that point, struggling to carry the mantle of command. The loneliness and anxiety were woven throughout the brief passages; she could feel the brave face he was putting on, but the subtext was agonizing.

The ninth missive was harrowing. Apollo wrote, with clinical detachment, he had been tortured for over a month, though he provided no details as to his injuries…_this was when we thought he had died_. He described the way he managed to escape from the captain, though, and Kara had to admire Apollo's character, the strategic mind that persevered, despite the attacks to his body. He was, quite simply, a force to be reckoned with. Then she reached the last passages in the letter, and had to stop. She ran to the bathroom, throwing up, the emotions beyond her ability to process.

"_I know it's unfair to tell you this, because you'll think I've put you on a pedestal, or focused on you as a fantasy, instead of remembering what was real. I won't deny the odds of that; it's nearly impossible to keep a perspective any more. But I'm compelled to let you know the truth; I almost died, and I sometimes have a sickening feeling I won't ever make it back home. Back to you. So I want to be sure you understand, deep in your soul, that I wouldn't have survived all this, gotten as far as I have, without the memories of our experiences together keeping my heart warm, without the hope I might someday recapture that breathtaking passion. _

"_After so many months, even in this blackout of any communication, I find the connection—the bond—to you stronger than I can somehow wrap my mind around. And I'm overwhelmed with grief, because I sense I've lost you, right in this very time. I had this dream…felt you slip away from my arms as though you were severing the link between us. I realize that probably sounds laughable—there's no way to know if you ever felt the same, even want to hear from me any more. Despite that, I can't stop from telling you how I've missed you—miss you this very moment. If you recognize the thing I'm trying so hard to describe—if you've felt the pull of it—gods, Kara, please write me. Even write me to tell me you don't want to hear from me again. Just let me know you're still out there, still breathing, still real."_

Kara kept trying to inhale, but her lungs felt so heavy and uncooperative. The timing was uncanny—the dream occurred during the same period she finally gave herself to Zak. Was that even possible, a connection like that? And what he must have thought, when she never wrote him. No wonder he was so angry and hurt. So much trauma, in succession, and she'd left him alone, never tried to tell him how much he meant to her, how profoundly he'd affected her.

Her fingers rested on the remaining seven letters. Kara struggled, trying to decide if she had the courage to read them yet, learn the point where he turned so cold and lifeless. She finally worked up the nerve to begin again. Her hand stayed over her open mouth for quite some time as Apollo detailed, in letter after letter, the relentless attacks by the rogues and the odds they continued to beat each day, despite being outnumbered.

As she read the final two terse notes, there was no intensity in the messages, in terms of feeling; she could almost sense the despondency lingering as negative energy in the pages. Apollo talked about the hunt to find the second base, and the time he was investing in developing a battle strategy to take out the threat once and for all. There was no mention of their personal relationship in the last paragraphs; Kara understood he'd given up hope completely. Nothing was written to that effect, of course, but the absence of expression communicated as clearly as sentences. Apollo didn't ask her to write either. It was as though he was on autopilot, composing the letters because he still wanted to tell her things, even though he believed she had no interest in learning about them.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kara stood up, realizing several hours had passed since she began reading. Her legs were wobbly; she felt utterly wiped out. The knee was throbbing—she was overdue to take the pain-killer she'd brought along. Shuffling along the wall, trying to shake the numbness out of her limbs, Kara managed to reach the kitchenette area. She prepared something small to eat—she had no appetite, but knew she wasn't going to make it without something in her stomach. Her mind raced with thoughts as she tried to decide what to do next.

Apollo had never come over to her cabin that day; she understood now why he'd avoided her so meticulously over the past days and months. And why she'd done the same—because the bond was that powerful, and all this time, she wanted to pretend it wasn't. Kara Thrace did not allow connections of that magnitude to form in her life. Which was the irony, of course. This had never been a choice. It had been an act of the gods, a gift that could lift her to the heights of the sun or devastate her beyond recovery. The jury was still out.

Grabbing the idol of Aurora to put in her pocket, Kara put on a coat and picked up the letters. She was going to talk to Apollo, try to help them both figure out what they really meant to each other in the present.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Knowing that knocking would be pointless, given the thickness of the door, Kara gingerly tried the handle. It opened. Once inside, she saw the fire in the main room; it appeared recently tended to. Softly, Kara called out Apollo's name. There was no response. As her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she scanned the area, and realized Apollo was lying on the couch, asleep. He'd moved the furniture closer to the fireplace, probably for the warmth; the orange lowlights played across the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw as he slept on his side, facing her.

She heard the slow, soft rhythms of his breathing, almost sensual in the way they lingered in the air. Her skin tingled now, close to him, the memories of their past flooding her. Almost without conscious control, Kara found herself kneeling next to the couch, leaning forward until her face was even with his. Watching Apollo's features, she realized his face was tensed, and his head and arm twitched slightly. _He looks like he's having a bad dream…_

Her stomach jumped when he said her name.

"Kara…no, no…stay…need you to…" The words were murmured; he was still asleep, but clearly distressed. She felt a sizeable lump in her throat, and her heart contracted in a sensation of longing and anguish. Her lips fell to meet his, lightly rubbing, then pressing gently. Hands traveled to his face, holding him; kisses were brushed along his forehead, then down the tip of his nose, and along his jaw, before centering over his mouth again. He stirred. She moved her body closer, let her tongue slide between his lips, tugging the mound of his lower ridge. A low moan registered from Apollo, and she was immediately wet, wanting.

His arm moved, a hand dragging along her back as he began to fully respond. She let the urgency build, dancing her tongue deep into his mouth as she pressed him on his back into the cushions. Apollo tried, for a moment, to grip her shoulder, push her away as he fought to regain awareness of what was happening; she resisted, her mouth insistent upon his, until she felt the tension drop, and he swept his hand into her hair, drawing her so tightly into his kiss she felt lightheaded. They were both breathless, but she refused to stop the frantic movement, reveling in the intensity of pleasure. _ How could I have ever forgotten the power of this? _In another moment, Kara knew it would come, that connection her soul had thirsted for since it last touched his own—the kisses would transition into the deeper exchange of energy, of life at its vital core.

_Oh, gods, gods, gods, there…so perfect…so beautiful…Apollo…my soul was starving for you._

He finally pushed her body upward, never breaking the contact, his arms gripping her steadily so he could guide them onto the fur rug in front of the fireplace. She slid back, giving him room to cover her full body length with his own. Hands liberated, they both began caressing in earnest. Feral sounds filled the room as their desires possessed them; Apollo was pushing against her, rhythmically, the thickness of his arousal so hot beneath the thin cotton he was wearing. She moaned deeply, rocking along his hard length, her body crying out for release. Kara's hands passed under his waistband, dragging the pants past his hips and over his taut ass. He lifted up, so the material could be maneuvered around his jutting erection, and kicked the material past his feet.

Apollo was naked, and Kara ran her hand feverishly up and down his skin, writhing as he pressed his hardness between her legs. Consumed with hunger, she pushed him onto his back, frantically groping at her clothes to be free, allowing their bodies total contact. He gripped her hair, pulling her roughly to his mouth, letting his lips devour her, his tongue push forcefully to savor every moist surface. Without warning, a sound that was half groan, half whimper emanated from the surface of Kara's throat; she was unable to stop, as it continued in short waves. It was an emotional expression of relief and love, pain and passion, tears too fierce to be expressed another way. Her eyes bore into Apollo's, and the same feelings were burning there, staring back at her.

He was dragging her torso forward, letting his mouth latch onto one nipple as he massaged the other between his fingers. She was gasping, between cries, and let her hands wrap behind his head to tighten the grip of his arm around her waist. Apollo was moaning, punctuated by brief whimpers as he tried to process the waves of sensation and emotion pulsing over and over. Kara felt his arms clench as the desire passed beyond tolerance and he flipped her into the floor, letting his hands grab her ass to pull her as close to him as physically possible. He positioned himself above her, using one hand to guide her legs apart. He gripped himself, stroking several times to stave off the painful pressure, then sliding his erection along the slick wetness of her, letting the tip press and rub against her engorged sensitive sweet spot. She twisted in pleasure; her arms shot out to grab his hips, nails digging into his flesh as she felt him enter her. He let the hard length fill her with excruciating slowness, satisfied in watching her face contort as she lingered frustratingly on the brink of climax.

"Apollo…gods..g-g-gods…"

He began thrusting. Soon, control would be impossible; it had been too long since he last did this with her, too long since he'd felt the release of orgasm in the furnace of her flesh.

"Apollo…your eyes…please look at me…don't break away…" He cried out at her words, tears lingering in the corner of his eyes as the overwhelming emotions gripped his heart.

Her tears were visible too; they were gasping and intermittently sobbing, their gaze locked, souls uncovered and unburdened.

He was moving in a faster rhythm, driving to find the deepest spot inside her, aching to explode. Their eyes still held.

"Kara…Kara…" She tightened around him, nails pressing hard into his shoulders, and her head arched back as her orgasm crested and a guttural sound of release lingered in the air. She refused to break eye contact. He came with a last powerful thrust deep into her core, the tenderness in her eyes pulling him past the edge. It was ecstasy. It was excruciating. It was everything.

He collapsed, his head just under her chin. Kara threw her arms tightly around him, let her hands massage his hair, reveling in the deepest union with a person she'd ever reached. It was better than the first time, so much meaning fueling the desire now between them. She grappled with feelings beyond her ability to control any more.

"Apollo…I read them. The letters. All sixteen." Her voice was deep with pain.

Apollo changed positions to be able to look at her directly. "Wh…what was that?"

"They arrived at the Academy on the day I was getting ready to come here; the Commander of the Eos, Thornton, had placed them in a package, but it went to the Chiron and spent two months in transit before finally reaching me. I didn't realize what the package was…I opened it this afternoon."

His face was suspended in motion. The shock was deep, and Kara could see he wasn't able to formulate a response to the revelation yet.

Placing her hand against his cheek, she marveled at the structure of cheekbones, the way his face and body appeared to be sculpted by a great master. Looking at him intently, she started again. "They were moving. And…haunting. The first thing you have to know is I _do_ feel it—the same bond, Apollo. The force keeps drawing me too, like…like it's essential."

He moved until he was directly above her, covering her mouth completely with his own. It was a tender kiss, intense and romantic. She let her hands rest against his neck, sighing deeply.

"I'm very sorry I didn't believe you, Apollo. I should have realized you would never just…handle things that way."

"Yeah, you should have realized that, Kara Thrace."

"I'm…after reading just the small bits of information you did share, Apollo, I understand a lot of things I didn't before, about the terrible things that happened. I can't wrap my mind around the idea you were tortured…I would give anything to wipe that away." Her voice filled with emotion.

"Shhhh, shhhh, Kara."

"Damnit, Apollo, I'm the one to be comforting you. You don't always have to be the noble one…"

He briefly snickered. "There's my Kara."

She looked at him with renewed seriousness. "I am. Yours. No matter how I try to move past it, I find myself here. Even when I grasp for something else, insist that's what I want, it isn't enough to over come the drive…the need…to be as close as this to you. All the time. And that terrifies me—still."

Apollo pressed his forehead against hers, let his hand drape the side of her face. He was whispering. "I'm not the same…without this…without you…and that terrifies me. Still."

Kara realized Apollo was shaking, and she encouraged him to lie down again. "You must be spent…I know your body isn't back to normal yet. Let's sleep for a while…we can share more in a few hours. There's a lot left to say—I know that—and I give you my word, we'll take the time to work through things." She smiled, hoping he would trust her enough to close his eyes, let his body rest.

"You'll stay?"

"I don't want to be anywhere but here, Apollo. I want to sleep next to you, wake up with you."

"Me too." He drew her close, entwining arms and legs to keep her as much a part of him as possible.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

**Sit Rep (present): New Caprica, Twelve Weeks After Cylon Occupation, One Week After the Public Square Massacre**

Kara set the pen down. Ink was staining parts of her fingers and palm; she felt the callous developing where she'd pressed the pen hard against her hand and against the pages. She realized she was inhaling shallowly, caught up in the rapid pace of the writing and subject matter.

Talking under her breath, Kara tried to pull the meanings out of the shadows. _ "I've been in a fog for months, unable to even have a normal conversation. I was thinking about the past, about Apollo, before…before the first time Cylon-Lee took…"_ she gritted her teeth, unable to mouth the words. _"And I wanted to…I realized the mistakes I'd made with Apollo, wished I could undo them. _

"_But after all this time of imprisonment, all the horrors, why would this set of memories come front and center? What difference could it make to me now, given there's no sign I'll ever even see him…again…"_ Something was hanging in the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, straining to remember. _"Laura! Something Laura said. It was… 'Commander Adama's coming, and the Admiral and Sam are fighting to secure your freedom too.' " Commander Adama's coming…Commander Adama's coming…Apollo. Apollo's coming. Apollo's coming?"_

Kara's thoughts were turning chaotically. Roslin seemed to suggest Apollo was the one still in space, and the Admiral and Sam were here. She'd said the words together…"Admiral and Sam." And the rescue attempt…had to be Sam…so it had to be the Admiral too? Gods…William Adama really on New Caprica. Did the other words mean what Kara hoped—Laura knew Apollo was coming to rescue all of them? Kara tried to reason through that idea; since Laura had been imprisoned, it seemed unlikely she would know anything current. _ "But I don't know how long she's been with the Cylons…it might have been fairly recent. So it could be true, what she said…"_

Some strange seed of boldness came to life in Kara's chest. The possibility—even if remote—felt like someone had given her a bolt of the sun's energy. Despite all that had taken place in this undefined space of time—Kara couldn't be sure how long she'd been in captivity by now—or, perhaps because of it, she felt she could build hope out of little things. She'd survived so much…it had to be for a reason. And that reason was linked to Apollo.

Kara also wanted to believe she was free of the worst of the Cylon torments from this point. It felt so wonderful to be back in herself, sense her identity returning slowly; no medications, no Cylon-Lee. Maybe they would leave her alone…and she'd be ready to help Apollo when he came to liberate them all from this macabre terror.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Defiance Team Alpha—ready?"

"Ready."

"How many are there at the hangar entrance, Sam?"

"Looks like…twenty-two."

"Alright—about what we estimated. Lieutenant Agathon—you and Chief Tyrol are on point. Anders and I will take up the rear." The Admiral picked up the bag with the explosives, Sam carrying the gun for cover.

They moved quickly; a few centurions along the side of the building spotted them and began shooting. The two men ducked behind a tall stack of boxes further down from the advancing machines.

"Think this will do, if we attach here? I'm not sure there's time to get any further back." Bill nodded in answer.

"Okay, then. The next part's yours—I'll keep these toasters busy." Sam reached for a grenade from his jacket, lobbing hard. Three centurions could be seen exploding into pieces in the distance.

Meanwhile, at the front, Sharon and Galen were assessing the best option for storming the doors. "Think we can create a diverson?" Galen asked.

"Yeah. The simple way."

"Meaning?"

"I'll walk up to them. There's no other Cylon models nearby; the centurions can't detect a difference with me relative to any other Eight. You'll have two minutes, maybe less, to roll the grenades under them…and don't forget to give me time to get out of the way, okay?"

"Do my best." There was not even a hint of emotion or recognition; Galen didn't react to anyone any longer.

"Great." Sharon shivered; Tyrol had been relentless in these raids, and she was very aware he wasn't sleeping. It was unnerving to rely on him at this moment—not only for accuracy, but for his involvement. He didn't care who lived or died in these attacks, as long as Cylons were destroyed.

"Give me thirty seconds' lead time." She took off towards the wall of centurions. Moments later, Galen walked up too, casually making low tosses of the weapons. The centurions started to spread apart, despite Sharon's presence, but it wasn't enough. Metal chunks just missed Agathon's head as she watched Galen begin yelling, running hard through the remaining centurion line.

"Damn, Tyrol…" Sharon muttered as observed more machines appearing past the entrance.

A deafening sound boomed, shaking snow from tree branches. Fire was belching out of the hangar. Sam and the Admiral had been successful. Sharon worried Tyrol might have been injured, though, since he ran into the building. She rushed forward, gun in hand, taking out the centurions still outside, then scanned from just outside the door, trying to determine what was happening inside. She could hear Tyrol screaming, with multiple shots; finally she spotted him, blood splattered across his clothes, as he moved with an eerie precision between the Cylon models and centurions, shooting with a preternatural confidence.

Advancing towards the center, Agathon could see the Admiral and Sam pressing into the building from the gaping rip in the side wall. Shooting and ducking, Sharon managed to get next to Tyrol, who'd finally slipped behind some crates. "Mission, soldier—focus on the mission!" Galen didn't respond.

Understanding something more intense was necessary to get his attention, Sharon struck the side of his head with her gun. Eyes blistering with anger met her stare. "Look, you frakkin' bitch, I remember the mission. Just do your job!" He leapt out again, firing with better accuracy than Sharon would have thought possible from the man. She followed suit; they were after a cache of weapons and explosives protected in the core of this structure.

In a matter of minutes, the four Colonials were able to gain control of the area, though Sam had a surface wound on his thigh, and Bill was hit with a sizable piece of shrapnel against his temple. Sharon stepped outside through the side wall, waving her hand to signal Defiance Team B should move into position.

In the end, they lost thirty people during this extraction; the boxes were hard to move, especially in the snow, and the length of time needed to provide weapons cover was harrowingly long. It was considered a successful mission; some of the others had not turned out as well. In the first week after all-out assaults began against the Cylons, over one thousand people had been killed. Another seven-hundred were injured; with no medical supplies, most of these would also die. The humans had taken their share of Cylons and centurions with them, in the process, but it wasn't likely to be enough.

In a short period after the public execution, the humans began establishing defense lines within the settlement. People doubled up in tents behind those areas. Groups took shifts to watch the perimeters. The snow-covered grounds made the situation more severe, but a small break in the weather had at least increased temperatures. The winds were finally abating, and some ice melting was beginning to be seen. The settlement leadership hoped it would mean the cold might be ending, though mud posed its own problems and it was hard to say how long the Colonials could hold out, regardless.

A pact had been made among the leadership group to keep the location of The Cellar secret, if at all possible; it had to be the last stronghold. Even now, no one knew where the leaders were hiding, in between raids, though most of the settlers realized there had to be a safehouse, and understood why they couldn't know more. The leaders took care to arrive singly, at different times, with other tents grouped nearby to make the cover less obvious.

The Cylon Cabinet tried to round up large groups of settlers at first, hoping to capture the Colonial leadership, but soon abandoned this position to other priorities. The detention center could not hold tens of thousands of prisoners, and rumors swirled that, despite pressure from certain members in the Cylon Cabinet, there was no Cylon consensus on the next course of action.

For the Admiral, the most interesting aspect of this phase had been the absence of Cylon reinforcements. He scanned the skies, as often as he could be outside, watching for increases in raider landings. Within the first seven days since the execution, he couldn't detect any. Adama wondered if this meant the larger Cylon group was not supporting the recent actions of the contingent in charge of the New Caprica "experiment." It might not hold, but the delay in would buy them a little more time. He was also surprised they were not attacking the settlement from the air; no explanation presented itself for that.

The small remaining leadership group—Adama, Sharon, Galen, Sam, Tom, and Tory—worked tirelessly on two sets of plans. The first half of every meeting now focused on current raids, setting targets that would either weaken Cylon control over the established territory or support the humans in obtaining needed supplies and equipment/weapons. The second half of the meeting was spent developing an escape strategy.

The Admiral figured they could last three or four weeks, at most, in these battles with Cylon forces, assuming a large reinforcement group didn't materialize and there were no air strikes. The goal was to try to hold back the enemy, cause enough damage and confusion the Colonials could make it to the grounded ships with FTL capability. There were no ships with artillery; their only option would be to make the jumps before the Cylons could react and blow them out of the sky. The final losses would be significant; the full population could not be crammed into the available transports, and those Colonials trapped in the detention center could not be helped either. Those settlers left behind would have no choice but to continue fighting on the ground, hoping the Cylons might ultimately abandon the planet, giving them a chance to survive. Equally dangerous, those humans who made it onto the escaping ships would be required to make FTL jumps intra-atmosphere. The Admiral could see no other way to beat Cylon response times.

All told, the leadership group surmised they could save 50 percent of the New Caprica settlers through this plan, at least to get them back into space. Survival beyond the first few days raised many other troubling questions, but the leadership agreed it was reaching the point where the humans would rather take their chances in the vacuum of space than die this way at the hands of the Cylon race. The core group also agreed they would need to split up at the time the strategy was put in motion; nothing else was equitable in the situation. Sharon and Sam agreed to remain on New Caprica; The Admiral, Tom, Tory, and Galen would go with the escaping ships. Galen had gone into a rage at first, when the Admiral made this determination; he wanted to keep fighting on the ground. Adama argued, however, they would be at a complete loss without Tyrol's engineering and ship operations knowledge. Ultimately, Galen accepted the order.

Weighing the dangers, Sharon also decided Hera would remain with her. The fear of Hera's Cylon capture tore at her conscience, but in the end, Sharon had confidence she could keep them both alive, even if separated from the other humans and living off the land, hiding in the caves and ravines covering much of the terrain.

Despite the Admiral's firmness in these decisions, they could all see how deeply the potential consequences wounded him. William Adama believed he had failed in his most fundamental duty—keeping humanity intact. More agonizing, personally, he understood he would be leaving without Roslin, having no hope of seeing her again. Sam had requested to remain planet-side because he was still determined to find out what happened to Kara, free her if he could; he swore to the Admiral he would do the same for Roslin.

The Admiral insisted on one key condition before he would commit to the final plans. Adama wrestled with the others until they acquiesced to it. No matter what occurred, the humans would hold out three more weeks planet-side. Only now had the jammed frequencies problem been resolved, and the Admiral clung to the idea the battlestars would follow protocol, sending a raptor back to scout for signals.

The military rules specified retreating battlestars, in the event of an unplanned separation of forces, would attempt to establish contact for rescue for a period of no less than fifteen weeks. Despite all of Bill's misgivings regarding his son's motivations, the long months of waiting had somehow allowed him to reason through things more carefully. Taken as a whole, when Bill considered Lee—his character, his past military performance, his ethical center—he believed, in his soul, his son would make the trip back. Supported by Tigh and Helo, Apollo would find the strength to attempt the journey and the rescue. Twelve weeks had passed; if help was ever going to arrive, it would likely happen within these final days. Adama had occupied himself, in those endless hours underground, with scenarios—imagining the tasks and time Lee and the others might need to plan and carry out a rescue operation of this magnitude. It couldn't be done in less than twelve weeks, and more likely not in less than fourteen to sixteen. Laura's visions had been correct: the battlestars would return, but time had been necessary. If the settlers had held out this long, they could manage it for a few more weeks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Thirteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation, Two Weeks After the Public Square Massacre**

No routines. That's all Tom could think about any more; there were no routines. Two weeks into a full-scale rebellion against the Occupiers, and he was hard pressed to find one thread of normalcy in their world. It wasn't that life had been predictable before the Public Square Massacre, but usually something was on an even keel, some activities were easier to complete. In the present, it was a struggle to find food, find medicines, find weapons, find rest, find privacy. He couldn't hear himself think, and the anxiety—intense and full-throttle—was unremitting.

It was unnerving, living now with a group of people in such close quarters. As irrational as it was, Tom found himself longing for his place on the Phygera. No one had experienced many comforts in the past year, which made it all the more painful to give up those few still available. An illusion, to be sure; he didn't really have options in leaving the Phygera, so he wasn't giving things up—he was surviving. The feeling, however, remained the same—he had lost his last sense of self-reliance. He was back to his prison-life—owning nothing, counting on nothing.

But if he were truthful, Tom did have something—he had the respect of others. In the span of twelve months, Tom had become a part of the settlement leadership group; his perspectives were considered, and more importantly, he was trusted. Despite Gaeta's death, Tom had not been blamed for the outcome; instead, the other leaders thanked him for bringing the information essential for any chance of communication and rescue.

The gift of acceptance spurred Tom to want to put it all on the line. He had done that before, but never with a pureness of intent—it had always, deep down, been for status, or recognition…or power. Now, he wanted to do it to be worthy. Of the trust, of the sacrifices made on his behalf, of the regard shown to him.

His health, however, was slowing him down. One issue had cascaded into another; he was fighting an infection, with limited treatments available. Tom refused the antibiotics, feeling there were others who needed the medication; his body was weakening under the continued stressors.

There was no time to wallow in his illness, however—Tom was determined to get the remaining Colonials out of this chaos.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sharon and the Admiral were laying on their stomachs, scanning the geography two clicks down a ravine. The snow was starting to soak their clothes; an hour had passed, and if they didn't make a move soon, this mission would have to be aborted.

"I can see the building—based on its construction, I'm willing to bet that's where the main flight fuel reserves are kept. Tom's intel was on the mark."

"He's certainly got more skills than I gave the man credit for," Bill said with begrudging admiration.

"I'm not seeing a significant number of centurions, which seems 'off'—they have to expect we'd want to secure this target."

"Maybe so, but we came here to find out what we're up against; after an hour, no reinforcements have arrived. It's time to obtain the intel we came for—size up the situation inside and around the perimeter."

Sharon nodded reluctantly. "I just don't want to take unnecessary chances—the stakes grow higher every day, Sir."

"That they do, Lieutenant, that they do." The Admiral stood up, signaling he was ready to walk down the ravine; he was done talking about it further.

Sharon stood as well, and bent to grab the bag next to her. Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of something moved…

"Admiral! Get down! Incoming!"

A metal talon caught Bill's coat as he went to hit the ground. Sharon rolled over, shooting at the Centurion in rapid fire; she watched in horror as the machine lifted Adama up, positioning a firing arm against his ribs.

"Centurion, stop! You are ordered to stop!" It was a Doral Cylon model approaching.

Sharon moved quickly to stand; Doral did not appear to have any weapons.

"Don't try anything foolish—Sharon, is it? As you're well aware, that centurion can break Adama's legs and still have time to take you out as well."

Sharon held her hands up, displaying her gun in the signal she was going to put it down.

Bill was studying Sharon's face; their eyes locked and he blinked, letting her know she should go ahead.

Sharon shifted her gaze to Doral as she bent towards the ground. He was staring back, apparently fascinated. Adama's sudden blood-curdling scream caused Doral to startle; he swung to look at the centurion. In that moment, Sharon grabbed a grenade out of the bag and jammed it into the machine's back, pulling the pin. The centurion dropped the Admiral to the ground, twisting to use an implement that would remove the object. Bill rolled as far away as he could; Doral and Sharon ran. Shrapnel rained in all directions.

Sharon immediately looked around to determine Adama's and Doral's positions. Grimly, she realized Doral had somehow grabbed her firearm and was now holding it against the Admiral's head. The Cylon spoke.

"I can't take both of you back, which is too bad. Your sisters miss you, Eight-Sharon. I could send you to them, through resurrection…"

The Admiral spoke. "Lieutenant—you know your orders." She blinked. Doral went to take the shot, but Bill used his size to knock the Cylon off-balance, giving Sharon a split second to change her position. Enraged, Doral slammed the gun hard into the back of Adama's head; he moaned and slumped forward. The Cylon began running after Sharon, shooting at her; she frantically scanned the landscape to find a way to slip his grasp. Darting up an incline, using the trees for cover, Sharon reached a ledge overlooking a rushing river below. _ It'll be cold, and I'll land hard, but it's survivable… _a shot whizzed by her head. Sharon jumped.

Doral screamed in frustration as he watched her fall to the water below. Deciding he had the better prize laying behind him, the Cylon walked back to where Bill Adama had fallen to the ground. The man was regaining consciousness; Doral jerked him upright.

"The Cabinet will be very interested to find out you're alive and here in New Caprica, Admiral. I just lost a wager. That means you're going to experience the skills of Leoben. I think you'll find he understands prisoner torture just as well as you do, and he wants to return the favors shown to him aboard Galactica."

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	12. Ch 11A: Greater Darkness Part A

Chapter 11: The Greater Darkness

**A/N: **When I took sociology in college, way back when, I remember learning about how humans cope with jobs that are "24/7." In those days, the examples the professor shared were doctors, ministers, and students—positions where there was no way to say when the work was done—if you're a student, for example, how do you "know" you've studied enough for a test, or if you're a doctor, how do you know when you've done enough for the patient, tried everything?

Well, I think "job search" should be added to that list, because I'll be darned if I know when I've "done enough" to get a new position, up until the point where I actually have a job offer, which hasn't happened quite yet (and then one wonders "if I did more, would I have more choices?"). All to say, I've been in a job search, and when I want to write for this story, I keep thinking I haven't done enough in the other category. That is why there are longer delays between chapters right now…so please bear with me.

Another note: I have to add this, because certain family members of mine might get a little "hot under the collar" for my characterization of test pilots. I will fully disclose I know that test pilots are not loose cannons with a death wish, because they wouldn't be good at what they do (_Top Gun_ portrayals notwithstanding). However, I took_ dramatic license, _okay? 

A big round of applause goes to my wonderful beta, Uberscribbler. His commitment helped me through a bad case of writer's block, and his editing/doctoring skills are invaluable. Thank you! A warm thank you to Jane, too.

_**Please note this is PART A of Chapter 11; PART B immediately follows.**_

**Chapter 11: The Greater Darkness**

"_Telling me your truth, and telling me your view, in how you see the world…spinning, spinning round. And what is love and what is death? The fears you have to put to rest. And so you walk_

_like angels talk…" Walk Like the Angels Talk, Toni Childs_

"_Understanding is a three-edged sword." Kosh, Babylon 5_

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Fourteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation, Three Weeks After the Public Square Massacre**

Bill regained consciousness slowly. His vision was blurred; as he tried to raise up on his arms, he realized he was weak and dizzy. Leoben had been limiting food and water, in addition to using some type of mind-altering drug that seemed to lower Bill's inhibitions. To Adama's surprise, given Doral's threat at capture, Leoben hadn't used physical force yet. It hadn't been necessary, though; soon after Bill was brought in, he had fallen ill. Ironically, the lack of water was causing the most damage to his systems—he had been losing a lot of fluids, and with no way to replenish his body, he was getting worse as each day passed. It was hard for Bill to calculate how long he'd been captured, but he thought it was at least four days, by his internal clock.

The fever was raging; Bill moaned softly as he willed himself to sit up, leaning heavily into the wall. He forced himself to focus on counting numbers, trying to pull his thoughts back towards something basic and sequential. It was hard to know if it was the drug or the dehydration scrambling his mental processes, but he found himself mixing real events with lucid dreams, in no particular order.

It was vital to keep all of his thoughts simple, logical, with no room for a lapse in concentration. Leoben had hammered at Bill Adama, for endless hours, taunting him about his failed relationships with other human beings, toying with psyche. Bill had always considered himself relatively immune to psychological forms of torture; he knew how to compartmentalize his emotions, knew how to let go of events with negative outcomes. He'd made mistakes—some even grave—when it came to his personal interactions with those most important to him, but he'd faced those errors and resigned, if not reconciled, himself to them.

Somehow, though—maybe because of the fever, or the other health problems—Bill found himself wearing down under Leoben's taunts and innuendos. He couldn't be sure what was imaginary and what was real, but he still felt the reverberating anger and distress at the words, the words that finally caused him to break down in sobs—the words Leoben used to describe the long torture of Lee Adama.

In dismay, Bill Adama's thoughts ricocheted as he endured the Cylon's story: He had to consider the ideas that a rescue had been attempted and failed; Lee had been captured and might be dead; Laura was probably dead; the Cylons had won total victory.

Leoben had been precise in his earlier descriptions of Lee, as he recounted to Bill the methods used. Now those word images wouldn't abate—the freezing water, the suffocation, his son soiling himself as the drownings continued. Bill had gnashed his teeth together as the scenes played out in his mind, and at some point he'd started crying out repeatedly, to Leoben's amusement. Leoben laughed, then, at Bill's agony, and smugly clapped to congratulate himself on finding a way in, a way to bring the great Admiral Adama to his knees.

And Bill had been on his knees, literally, swooning in the grip of the fever, lost in a muddle of intense emotions and distorted time. Not long after Leoben's clapping stopped, the Cylon left the room without another word, and Adama slumped to the ground, exhausted and yet afraid of the dreams that might follow him. Images of all the events Bill had missed in his family's life—anniversaries, birthdays, ball games, school awards, dates—Leoben had managed to paint pictures of each rite of passage, pressing his bare hands into the psychic wounds as he twisted the knife of regret deeper into Bill's heart. Leoben had specific details for every person, each place; those scenes were as vivid as the ones of Lee's torture.

Twitching in physical misery, a small pebble of basic fact rippled through the murky waters of Bill's memory, the outermost wave finally reaching conscious thought. The descriptions of Lee's torture were eerily familiar…maybe he'd imagined the scenes before, and that's why they were so stark? Bill's body jerked and his eyes flew open; he rolled over on his back, moving a hand into his damp hair. _When we thought he was dead_…

A small measure of relief dared to rest in his stomach; the Cylon was describing Lee's torture from many years earlier, not events that had happened recently. Lee could be alright then, and a rescue still possible. But how did the Cylon have that detailed information? Somehow, Bill guessed, they'd seen the medical records, and Leoben must have presumed Bill, in his current state, wouldn't be able to make the connections.

Bill found tears rolling down his cheeks as he lay there, shivering against the cold floor; he had managed to keep his mind from the abyss, and in that small victory, also hold on to a sliver of hope. He closed his eyes as he gingerly rolled onto his side, curling up for warmth, letting his thoughts focus on internal pictures of his son. He rocked himself to sleep, then, the reassurance enough to still his body, at least for a little while.

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Bill Adama slowly opened his eyes. He was disoriented; the bright overhead light seemed to be turned off, and he immediately realized he wasn't cold any longer. Without moving, Bill tried to let his senses tell him what could be discerned. He was laying on his side, but his head was in something malleable and warm…with a start, he understood it was a human lap. He was covered in several blankets—scratchy, but heavy—and Bill could hear someone breathing. His heart seized; he recognized the sounds, knew the person who breathed through her nose with that soft emphasis. "Laura?" he managed to gasp out, his throat parched from dehydration. He shifted his body to be on his back, able to look up into the face above him.

"Yes, Bill, yes, it's me." He felt her hand come to rest lightly on the top of his head as he looked fully into those eyes and felt his breath catch. He suddenly shuddered, realizing the fever was still with him; his physical condition wasn't much improved.

"Laura…I've been…the fever…"

Laura nodded, her hand beginning to slide through his hair and then stopping abruptly, as though she thought better of it.

"Hopefully Leoben will follow through on his promise to bring a medic to check you out, B—Admiral."

"Laura, gods, don't call me that now," Bill moaned softly, closing his eyes as he felt his mind faltering again. "I've been missing…" His voice was barely above a whisper.

With a swift movement, Laura gripped Bill's head in her hands, jerking him into alertness.

"Admiral, they have cameras and microphones here, to observe us." The words whistled past her clenched jaws. Bill struggled to put the phrases together, absorb what she was saying and why. Finally, the realization penetrated his mental fog…Laura didn't want the Cylons to understand the nature of their relationship. Leoben could use it against both of them, and Bill could see the fear in her eyes—anxiety for him, to keep him safe. He nodded his head slightly, to let her know he understood the situation now. She let go of his face, her hand squeezing his briefly before moving to the side.

Bill moved his own hand up, letting it rest on his chest as he made the shape of an "L" with his fingers. He wanted her to know how deeply he felt, to say the words in the only way left to them in the present moment. Laura casually moved her hand next to his, making the same shape. He could see the intensity of emotion in her eyes, though she couldn't allow tears to form.

He felt himself fading into unconsciousness again, the energy drained already from his body. Fighting against it, he pushed himself to talk. "Are you doing alright…are you in pain?" Bill watched carefully, looking for body language to fill in the blanks her statements could not.

"I'm in reasonable shape, Admiral, all things considered…I've managed." _It was bad, but they've left me alone more recently._

"How are our friends?" _Are the others still alive, still free?_

"I haven't seen anyone since I was brought here, other than Starbuck, so I assume they're making things work with the Cylon government." _I only know Kara's here; if there were others captured, the news would have been flaunted, so they must still be out there, leading the Resistance._

"Was Starbuck good?" _Have they tortured her…how bad is it?_

"She seems to be doing quite well." _It was bad…she needs help._

"I'm so tired…more questions later…" Bill finally murmured, as his body refused to do more. _The suffering is endless. _Bill fell back asleep, concentrating only on the warmth radiating from the woman who cradled him; he couldn't allow himself to dwell on the other unasked questions he was certain tortured both of them.

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The second time Bill awoke, he found himself on a cot, clean clothes against his skin and blankets draping him. There was an IV connected to his left arm, but he was in the same room as before, and he could see Laura laying on a second cot nearby. He was weak, but he could tell his condition had improved; the fever appeared to have broken, and his body was calm. Bill tried to sit up, but his muscles refused to fully cooperate, so he resigned himself to turning on his side to see Laura's form directly in his vision. She was asleep; he wanted to slide in next to her there, hold her tightly against his chest and breathe in the scent of her skin, feel her hair touching his cheek. He had to settle for the warming sight of her, the aquiline features of her face standing out from the grey of the blanket tucked under her chin.

Listening to the steady rhythm of inhale and exhale, Bill sighed at the immense pleasure of such a simple thing. Laura's features were drawn, worry creased into her forehead even in sleep; there were dark shadows under her eyes. Bill wished he could stare into her eyes again, feel that strength radiating from them…he was still plagued by the emotional tempests Leoben had stirred within, snippets of memories invading his consciousness at nearly every turn. Willing himself to focus on stillness, to let the jolts of adrenaline abate, Adama reminded himself he was stronger than the Cylon, able to see past the manipulation and manage his thoughts. It just took all of his energy to make it happen, an item in short commodity at present.

Laura stirred; as her eyes focused on the man across from her, she smiled. "You look better…how do you feel?"

"I'm on the mend, I think…though not much physical strength yet, I'm afraid." He gave her a small smile in return.

Laura sat up. "They left some food for us. I'll bring it over." She stood, and Bill was relieved to observe the woman did not appear too thin or malnourished. She grabbed a chair to sit next to Bill's cot, carefully easing him into an upright position to eat. He managed small bites and drained two glasses of water quickly.

"They haven't…this is the most, in terms of basic needs, that the Cylons have provided since…since I got here." Bill still wasn't sure how long he'd been imprisoned.

"It's a cycle. The others seem to let Leoben have free rein for a while, then come in to…fix things…and Leoben returns afterward." The bitterness colored her voice, but Bill knew Laura was choosing her words carefully; she didn't want to say something that would set off the Cylon.

Adama nodded in understanding. They both sat in silence for several minutes; it was difficult to have a conversation when everything either one wanted to say was somehow off-limits in the current situation. Bill wondered if the cameras would pick up on the way his body vibrated around Laura; they weren't touching, but every cell seemed to be reaching for her, and he could sense the same energy directed towards him. _If only I could touch her face…_

Finally, a thought struck him. He cleared his throat, and she caught his eyes. "You know what I've been thinking about, when…when alone in my cell?"

Laura shook her head "no," waiting to see where he was leading them.

"I was remembering that book I loaned to you before you came to New Caprica. The one about the fur trader who hunted in the mountains of the Circean range on Leonis."

"Oh. I think I recall the basic storyline—the protagonist, Perian, discovers a secret passageway through the Alon Pass. He manages to bring information to King Theonae that saves his city-state from decimation at the hands of their enemy, the Fromites."

"Right—that's the one. I see you did get to finish it." Bill winked at her; he was certain Laura would understand they could communicate through the retelling of the "plot."

"So what brought that to mind?"

"I was trying to…to keep my mind focused, so I decided I'd run through the catalogue of books I could remember reading, seeing how much of the plot I could recall for each one."

"How many books were you able to remember?"

"Only a few…I was…the fever was blurring the stories with dreams…it was convoluted." Laura's eyes widened slightly; she wondered if Leoben had been giving Lethe to Bill. She remembered similar disoriented periods during her continued incarceration.

"Why do you suppose that plot stuck with you, given…everything?" Laura hoped this would be the right opening for Bill to start sharing the coded details of what had been going on outside. She was suddenly hungry for any information related to other humans, pieces to explain the history of events since she'd become trapped in Leoben's grip.

"I...I found King Theonae interesting. He wasn't always a good man, but he redeemed himself to become a great leader. I guess that was comforting to think about, when I was feeling…worn down by this…this situation."

Laura weighed Bill's words. The last sentence had been tossed in to keep up the pretense, explain why Bill would think of that story; the first part, though, about King Theonae was the real message. _Zarek._ He was probably trying to let her know something about Zarek.

"He did become a strong leader. The king experienced great tragedy, though, that transformed him and motivated him."

"Right. He watched his son being slaughtered at the hands of the Fromites, and had to force himself to concentrate on protecting his people, rather than on personal revenge." Bill held Laura's gaze, looking to see if she was grasping the underlying meaning.

_Son…the king's son…Zarek's son…Gaeta? Gods, Gaeta was dead?_

"Later, the king discovered the son's last act, before his murder, was completed at great sacrifice to save the citizens of the state. It's what inspired King Theonae to trust Perian, believe that the secret passageway was real and that it was possible to preemptively strike against the Fromites."

Laura tried to keep her features normal, despite the fact she didn't understand this aspect of Bill's message at all. If the son was Gaeta, then what did Gaeta accomplish before he was killed? What would be the "secret passageway?" _How could the humans preemptively_…a twinkle came to Laura's eyes as she made out the pattern. Gaeta had found a way to communicate, get past the jamming signals. They had a hidden path to send messages…and if the messages were received by the Colonial fleet, all of the humans might be rescued through a surprise military strike. At least, Bill seemed to think so.

Looking away, not wanting her emotions to get the better of her, Laura closed her eyes for a moment. Bill was trying to give her hope, let her know plans had moved forward, despite the costs. She was grateful, and overcome with longing. Bill was right next to her, after all this time, still giving her his strength even when he could ill afford to. It was excrutiating, being within arm's reach but unable to even take his hands into her own.

Laura suddenly realized she should say something in return, bring the pretense to a close. It was better if they didn't continue on this path for long, or the Cylons would realize the ruse and push to decipher the real meaning. Too much was on the line, if she understood what might happen in the near future—if the Galactica and Pegasus actually picked up the signals and responded.

She faced Bill, and assumed the features of seriousness. "I never liked the story because of the ending, though; it was a pyrrhic victory. The Fromites were defeated, but they brought with them a plague that killed 80 percent of the city-state's population."

Bill's eyes flashed for a moment, until he processed what Laura was attempting to do. "True; it doesn't have a happy ending. But it's quite a ride along the way."

Laura nodded. "I guess we can relate to that aspect, huh."

"Yeah," Bill spoke slowly, "I guess we can."

With a genuine frown of concern, Laura rose quickly. "You're looking a little pale again, Admiral; have some more food and water, and then it'll be time to rest."

Bill wanted to protest, but he was feeling weaker, so he said nothing as she gathered up the items and returned beside him. A few minutes later, she helped him ease back into the cot.

"What will you do, while I'm…it must be tedious, spending so much time with nothing to…to focus on."

"They gave me three books to read; every two weeks, I get another three. They're all old Colonial stories about the first Cylon War. I think they're meant to be _instructive_." She was trying so hard not to be sarcastic, but some words just insisted on coming out another way.

"You read them?"_ Anyway? _He thought silently.

"Yes. It gives me a lot to think about, keeps my mind occupied. Beats the alternatives." She smiled, but Bill could tell it held nothing genuine.

"Now, Admiral, close your eyes…and I'll get to my reading."

Twenty minutes later, Laura gave a real smile as she heard the man's soft snoring. In the long months of captivity, she imagined that sound in her ear so many times; it was hard to believe she was actually in the room with him, after so much suffering. Laura couldn't be sure they would ever make it out of the Cylons' grasp alive, so she cherished this moment for what it was—the small light in the darkness.

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Kara sighed contentedly as the hot water seemed to seep into every pore. She was so grateful to be able to enjoy something again, and the shower had been her last "safe place," where she felt away from CylonLee's reach. Even though it had been some time since she'd had to see him or hear his voice, Kara found herself seeking the solace of the warm, enclosed space at least twice a day, where she still felt most protected.

Each day, different bits of recollection filtered back to her. She labored to fit the items together in any logical sequence. Other than the journaling she'd completed a few days before, very little else came in the same large chunks of recovered experiences. But people did seem to pass through her, almost like ghosts; Kara could hear their voices, remember their laughter, almost reach the full sensation of an explored memory…almost. Helo, the Old Man, Sam…and even people she had negative feelings about—Kat, Dee, Tigh…she could see the faces and breathe in the singular emotions associated with each person. But only one engendered the feeling of profound romantic love…and aching sadness. She wasn't able to pull out the events that transformed one into the other, but it was the splinter in her mind's eye. Something blocked the flow of thought, leading her past that night in the cabin…but the key to full mental recovery seemed to hinge on overcoming the psychic barrier.

Kara focused again on the present moment: the sound of the water rushing over ears as she stood directly under the pulsating stream, the scent of the soap in her hands reminding her strangely of almonds, the steam filling the area around her. Abruptly, a spike of adrenaline shot through her. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands hard into the tiled wall. She was feeling claustrophobic…_the steam is too much…I can't breathe well…_thena clear memory snapped into focus at that moment. _ Gods, he's choking me! I can't break the hold…I'm being pushed under the water, and it's so frakkin' cold…stop, stop, don't do this, you know it's Kara—it's Kara! Must fight harder, or he'll kill me…dragging us to ground now…losing consciousness. Thrace, forget who it is and take control with the combatant! Still choking me…must do something…_

Kara heard herself wheezing as her body reacted, her leg repeating the movement from the memory. To her shock, she heard a forceful groan and felt hands drop away from her throat. Confused and dizzy, she fell towards the shower opening, her knees slamming hard into the floor. Looking back, Kara saw CylonLee doubled over, hands reflexively covering his crotch. He was fully naked; horror bolted through her realizing who was there in that shower and what he'd intended to do.

Running out of the bathroom, Kara managed to make it into the bedroom. She shoved a chair under the handle, then did a sweep of the room for anything that might make a valuable weapon. A marble sphere, similar to the one CylonLee had used to break her foot weeks ago, sat on the side table. _That will have to do_…she moved into the corner by the door, where she would be hidden as it swung open. CylonLee wasn't talking; he was all about force, slamming his body against the barrier. With the Cylon's strength, Kara knew she wouldn't have to wait long. Her body was thankfully more or less healed; if she struck his head with sufficient surprise and leverage, she could overcome the bastard. _Why is he here, though? What's changed?_ Kara pushed conscious thought aside; her best chance in this moment was to be all instinct, all animal.

With a fierce cry, CylonLee propelled the door into the room, the chair shattering in satisfying cracks and snaps of flying material against walls. His lanky form took one large step forward, head swiveling quickly to catch his opponent's movements. Kara was crouching, to be sure he'd miss her in his peripheral vision just long enough for a surprise jump. She sprang upward, slightly off the ground as her arms flew above her head to bring the marble down squarely onto the top of his skull.

CylonLee's arms jutted out, grabbing her against him as they both fell to the floor. Blood was seeping rapidly over his face, and still he fought her, reaching for the weapon. Kara managed to knee him again, then smashed the heavy weight into the side of his face. His grip around her body failed, but as she rolled away, he caught her wrist and yanked her toward him once more.

Kara was certain CylonLee would die in a few more moments, yet he held her in a painful body position. She could smell the blood, feel droplets spatter her as the Cylon moved his mouth to speak. "You make me so hard, when you battle this way, Kara; I want to be inside you again, and I will—we will—be together in a few hours. You're completely mine now—do you understand? From this point forward, I'll have you with me, all the time. You'll show me what you've been up to, and remember how to love me…just like we were before Simon and Doral interfered."

Kara clutched in the core of her being at his words. She spat in his eyes and drew the marble weight down hard enough to break his wrist, releasing his hold. In fury, she screamed as she took another swipe at his head, and another, and another, until she was shaking in temporary exhaustion. His blood covered her—most of her skin and her hair were steeped in the dark liquid of his hateful life force. She let the weight drop to the ground, and threw up next to the dead Cylon's body, her mind reeling from the capricious and precarious character that defined her existence.

Resolute to continue killing the monster or die in the attempts, Kara forced herself to stand. She would need to get cleaned up and come up with plans for other ways to take CylonLee down. Kara realized there was another important task to complete as well, if the Cylon was telling the truth: she needed to destroy everything she'd created or written down in this place. CylonLee might take her identity yet again, but he wasn't going to get any new clues from her to help in that process.

As Kara stepped back into the shower—now, even this was no longer sacred ground—she was shaking uncontrollably. In desperation, knowing she still had the strength somewhere to face the grimness ahead, she began muttering a forgotten prayer to Aurora. Kara felt it emanate from some region of her brain previously dormant, like a candle against the darkness:

"_Aurora, bring illumination, bring the secrets into the burning fire of truth and revelation. With the strength of Apollo, defeat my enemies. Bring me back to the Sun, giver of life, and burn the heathens to ashes in certain retribution._

As Kara felt the prayer finish vibrating against her lips, she could swear she heard his voice—Apollo's—calling out her name.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation of New Caprica**

Lee had been sitting in the main temple again, meditating. At least, that's what he called it; he wasn't praying…not really…he just was focusing on the stress management techniques the PTSD counselor had taught him, willing himself to control his thoughts.

The room was always quiet and empty, he found, if he came at the same time as when he first visited, so he began shifting his schedule slightly to make it to the sanctuary when he might be alone. Lee told no one of his increasingly regular sessions; he wasn't prepared to explain his shifting perceptions, or give hint he experienced more than just peacefulness when he entered there. Tonight, in particular, he actually felt restless, as though anticipating something. _It's probably just excitement over the scout raptor launches… _

Cracking his neck, stretching his arms up and then sideways to also crack his back, Lee inhaled deeply and repositioned his body. _ I've got to find a way to relax; I need sleep badly. _

An uncomfortable heat inexplicably came over him; he looked into the depths of the room, trying to find a logical explanation for the change. In another moment, a sharp pain resonated in his forehead; his hands went instinctively to his temples as he let out a low moan. An image of Kara flared behind his eyes; he was…Gods, no, not that memory, not yet_…his hands were around her neck, choking her as he dragged her onto the river bank…_Can't go back there, yet, can't go back_…she was kicking him, frantically; he finally let go, and then he was running, running, running, running…_

Lee's heart beat furiously, his moan echoing into the chamber…and then he heard a voice pounding in his ears. It was clear and determined. _ Aurora…bring me back to the Sun, giver of life, and burn the heathens to ashes in certain retribution."_

"Kara! Kara!" Lee came back into his body with a whooshing feeling, the pronounced headache gone as quickly as it had come. His pulse was rapid, heart still beating wildly; he tried to sort out what had just happened. As he turned to take in his surroundings, he made out the shape of an old woman. The Priestess stood there, the one who'd given him the prophecy…she was looking at him expectantly.

"You're here…was—was that really Kara?"

"What does your instinct tell you, Lee Adama?"

Lee said nothing for a minute. "What are you supposed to share with me now?"

"Still the skeptic. Work on your faith, and quickly. If you don't learn how to trust in the unseen, you'll lose the path, and thus they all will. It's her, Starbuck; she's calling out to you, Apollo, by name. What more proof do you need? There's time…time to save her, time to bring them all back to you, but it grows dangerously short."

"I thought…the dream…the bond was severed…"

"No, Apollo, never severed. Dormant…weakened, perhaps…never broken. Only you have the power to do that, and you won't."

"Even across all this—"

"This what? Do physical distance and time matter? Your thinking is so limited! You keep refusing to accept what I shared with you. It must change. The gods are losing all patience. Apollo, even with Helo's support, you turn away from what you know to be true. Why? What do you struggle with so unremittingly?"

"I look at my past, and I can't see the way forward. I thought I did, on New Caprica, and Kara outright rejected it—rejected me. You tell me Kara and I are bound—divinely, even—but we've spent far more time apart than we ever did together. You tell me she can restore my soul, but she gave her soul to someone else, another man. You tell me I am to lead our people, but when I had a role of leadership before, I lost control, lost my way completely afterward, lost any sense of purpose or hope in the future. Yeah, I struggle to believe any of this, with or without Helo's involvement. I don't even accept the existence of—"

"Enough, Lee Adama! Enough!" Something in the woman's tone caused Lee to step back, a fear spreading quickly through his core.

To his surprise, the Priestess shifted energetically, empathy on her face as she moved close to Lee. "Take my hand, Apollo, and pull out the icon of Aurora you keep with you; set it here, next to this candle."

Without being sure why, Lee complied. "You heard Kara's voice, praying to Aurora?" Lee nodded.

"Kara is linked with Aurora; there's more to tell, but not at this juncture, so just remember Aurora is significant to both of you. Now, I want you to kiss the icon, then baptize it in the flame of the candle." Lee moved to finish the tasks. A strange liquid heat began swirling in his veins.

"You feel the energy?"

"Yeah…"

"Good. Now, sit with me, your hand in mine, and tell me the memory you were having, Apollo. How did you come to that fateful moment with Kara at the river by the cabins?"

Lee stared at the woman, stunned. "Your skepticism must fall away, Apollo. I am here, as before, to help you. The Lords of Kobol wish success for this cycle; yearn for it, in fact. We must successfully change the pattern this time. So follow my lead, and walk through the pain."

Lee found himself accepting the truth of her statements. He began, in a low tone, to recount the rest of journey with Kara after the Eos mission.

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_**Sit Rep (past): Caprica City, Three and One-Half Months after Apollo's return **_

The following day with Kara, after she'd come to him in the cabin, had been a heady mix of love-making, laughter, and conversation. Lee marveled at the way his heart felt so rich and satisfied in her presence. The passion was intense, but the friendship matched the desire; they spent hours discussing flying and sharing experiences each had missed in the life of the other over the past many months. Kara encouraged Lee to think about his future, really invest securing his test pilot berth. She offered to help him through the sims, take him on practice runs to pass the skills examination necessary for final acceptance. He basked in the warmth of her spirit, eager to accept everything she was ready to share.

Then Kara began talking about their future—Lee and Kara, together. It was late in the evening of the second day; both were acutely aware they had but another few hours to make plans, break away, or remain in an agonizing limbo. Lee couldn't imagine how he would be able to let go of her, but his feelings of guilt regarding Zak were beginning to overcome other defenses; he feared an emotional purgatory would be the only outcome, if they couldn't come up with other answers.

Kara was putting another log onto the fire. It flared brighter for a moment; Lee caught his breath at her beauty in the contrasting shadows of the firelight. Sensing his eyes on her, Kara turned to smile at him.

"I know it's time to figure things out, Lee. I'm amazed you held out this long, honestly."

Lee smiled wistfully back. "I'm amazed you just brought it up."

Kara sat beside him, turning to study Lee's eyes as she gently grabbed his hand. "I…I'm ready to be with you. _Want_ to be with you. One hundred percent committed." She bit her lower lip, waiting to see what he would say back.

Lee reached for her face, stroking under her cheekbone as he nodded in agreement. "Me too. One hundred percent committed."

"From the beginning, I don't fully understand what happened between us, Lee, but my faith tells me there's a deep significance to our connection. It's more than just…"

"A romantic relationship?" Lee wasn't sure the word "love" could be spoken aloud between them yet.

Kara snorted a small laugh. "Well, that's one description. Love is another." She said it softly, the words almost swallowed; she maintained her gaze with his.

"Yeah…that's the word I would choose, Kara." His voice was still, but full of emotion and warmth.

Kara nodded, her lower lip trembling; she pressed her teeth against it again. "I watch Sarah and Tom, or think of myself with Zak, and I see…it isn't like this. What happens between us. So we…love…and there's something more. Something that frightens me and inspires me all at once. Something I don't think we're supposed to fight any longer, or risk angering the Lords of Kobol themselves."

"Who are you trying to convince?" Lee chided with a smile.

On impulse, Kara leaned in and kissed him. Gentle as it was, the passion was so intense he lost himself.

"Do you feel that, Lee, when our souls…" she said quietly, reverently.

"Touch--shift into one another? Yeah, Kara, I feel it. Gods know, it's like a drug."

"Like a drug. Only I think it's…" Kara stopped, unsure if she could give voice to the secret beliefs she held about the two of them.

Lee saw the hesitation. "It's okay, Kara. Talk to me. What do you sense?"

"It's the gods' gift to us, Lee, to make sure we have each other, to face what's ahead."

Lee's face creased with worry. "What's ahead…I don't—"

"I don't know, either. I just think, no feel, like everything's going to change. And we'll be expected to accept the burdens. As long as we're together, we'll be strong enough to handle whatever comes." Kara had a far-away look in her eyes; Lee suddenly felt cold and unnerved.

"Kara, I'm not…" He had to stop, breathe, and try again. "I have a lot of baggage. I can't think about expectations like that; I've only started thinking about the future in the past 24 hours. I want to be with you so much I can't think straight, but if you have this idea I'm going to be a hero or a leader or—"

"I don't want you because of that, Lee. If you expect hero worship, you have the wrong girl." She smiled, to lighten the mood; he was clearly spooked by the mention of any larger destiny or responsibility, and honestly, it was just as uncomfortable to her.

"Kara, are you really…are we ready to do this, take this step? Zak will be devastated; I don't know if he'll forgive me." His face was dark with the pain of that idea.

"Lee, I do love Zak—you have to know that. I've been happy with him, and this whole situation is absurd."

Lee's head jerked at that statement; she saw his eyes darkening. Kara pulled his chin up, staring straight into the depths of his soul. "But I don't, I _can't,_ fight this any more, this aching I feel to be with you. No matter how I've felt about Zak, it isn't the same level of intensity. We risk a great deal to take this step, but we risk as much if we don't."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"Yes, Lee."

"So what do we do?"

"We tell him tomorrow, when he gets back from the trip with Tom."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah…just like that." Kara leaned in to kiss Lee again; Lee's emotions were warring within, and Kara had to quell them. The desire flamed instantly between them; in a few moments, Lee had lifted Kara fully into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. As their souls danced deeper and deeper, Kara could feel the bond strengthening, beginning to soak in the permanence of it. They fell asleep, finally, foreheads touching, unspoken words of love lingering around them.

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The following morning, ready to work off the energy of jangled nerves and mixed emotions, Lee and Kara set out for more fly fishing. The day was bright with sunshine and the fragrance of pine greeted them as they neared the river banks. As they waded deep into the steam, Kara pledged she would be the one to talk with Zak that evening; despite everything she and Lee had shared, Kara felt a lingering fear Lee would reverse course, running rather than risk hurting his brother.

It wasn't that Kara wanted to hurt Zak, or that she felt no remorse; gods knew her heart was heavy with the mess she'd made of things, falling in love with both brothers, causing this situation. Nonetheless, Kara was resolute in moving forward with Lee. She was convinced their path together was the will of the gods, and she wasn't willing to ignore her own instincts longer. She prayed Lee would find the strength to forgive himself, eventually; Kara believed Zak would fall in love again, and he could absolve Lee, given space and time.

As the morning turned into afternoon, the two fell into a happy rhythm of conversation and playfulness. With ten fish caught, Lee suggested they head back; Kara had other ideas. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into the water, laughing as he gasped with the cold water splashing over him. He reached for her, ready to pull her in sideways into the deeper water with him, but she twisted away at the last minute and stepped beyond his grasp. He was shouting taunts, a big grin on his face, as he waded for a moment, then found a way to unbalance her. Kara fell forward into his arms, then tripped on a rock underneath the stream and slid quickly under, doused in bracingly frigid water. Wanting Lee to forget his momentary victory, Kara reached for his head, shoving hard as she kicked his leg to propel him deep beneath the water. Lee was thrashing; she kept him under another ten seconds, teasingly.

When Lee managed to lurch out of the stream, his countenance was completely different. Before Kara could ask anything, she felt his hands grip her neck with startling force. She tried to speak, to tell him he was hurting her, but the hold was so tight she wasn't able to get the words out. In another second, he had shoved her far under the water and locked his arms. She couldn't break free.

Fear surged through her mind; Kara couldn't understand what was happening. Survival instincts fought for control, and at last, Kara managed to get her head above the surface. Her arms were going numb rapidly in the cold, but she swung hard, trying to force Lee's locked arms to break position. He let go momentarily, but in the next instant had grabbed her by her clothes, dragging her onto the embankment.

She was screaming, trying to see his face, shake him out of his altered state, but it was to no avail. He grabbed her throat again with one hand and began beating her face with the other, close-fisted. Remembering something from her Academy training, Kara managed to raise her hand, jabbing a thumb into Lee's eye; as he groaned, Kara kicked him forcibly in the groin. Falling back on his haunches, Lee growled, then shook his head; Kara recognized the instant he returned to himself, because he slid backwards on his hands, crawling away from her with a look of self-loathing.

"Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods! What did I do? What did I do to you?" Lee scrambled to his feet. He started screaming—it was an agonizing sound, like a tortured animal.

Kara tried to get up too, but her recently re-injured knee was uncooperative; she hitched her breath as the pain made her dizzy for a second.

"Lee…" she said on reflex as she worked to comprehend the inexplicable. This man had just tried to kill her, for frak's sake! But something Tom said came to her, and it clicked: post-traumatic stress. Something about the water triggered a flashback…that's why he acted out.

"Lee," she called out again; it was too late, as Kara realized he was running towards the cabins. Kara started screaming his name, asking him to stop; she knew she wasn't going to be able to catch up with him and she didn't want him taking off or doing something even more rash. It was useless; he'd disappeared beyond her line of vision.

Kara forced herself to stand and begin moving. She couldn't let Lee fight this alone. He had to know she would be next to him, help him through his recovery. As fast as she could manage, given the misfired, angry nerves in her leg, Kara started the trek back.

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Lee ran the entire distance to the cabin. Falling into a heap on the front porch, his body ached, lungs straining in labored breathing. He was trembling and ice-cold, unable to wrap his mind around what he almost managed to do. The sight of Kara's white skin and terror-filled eyes made him want to take a knife to his throat. It was impossible to accept he could have killed her a few minutes ago.

With a self-hatred he was beginning to find oddly normal, Lee drew on his fury to move again, entering the cabin to begin packing his things. He raced from room to room, shoving items frantically into his duffle bags. It was important to leave—now—before she got back, before Zak returned, before he'd have to face anyone and explain how Lee Adama had turned into a monster, unrecognizable even to himself.

To his dismay, as Lee went to put his luggage in the car, he discovered the keys were nowhere to be found. For the next twenty minutes, he searched everywhere to get his hands on them. Finally, in a last-ditch effort, Lee went to Tom's closet and began feeling through the pockets of all his clothes; he was rewarded with the clinking of a key set in one of the jackets. Hoping it wasn't too late, Lee scooped up the bags, taking large strides to the car. As he made it to the trunk of the vehicle, however, Kara appeared.

Lee could see she was in pain; despite everything, he owed it to her to make sure she was alright. He dashed inside and grabbed some water and a painkiller; Kara had sunk into a porch chair by the time he returned. "Here…drink this. I…I'm so sorry, Kara, for…Are you okay? Do I need to drive you to the doctor?" He wanted to escape, so she'd be free of him, but he realized he needed to see if he'd done more serious damage to her physically.

"No, no doctor, Lee. Look, I know what happened…you freaked out in the water. Something to do with your torture…"

Lee looked at her, sadness overtaking his body.

"Hey, Lee, it's me—Kara. Nothing's changed—you hear me? I said I want a future with you, and I meant that! Godsdamnit, don't run out! Let me help you. Please, Lee, let me help you. There's nothing to be ashamed of." Kara stood up, pulling Lee close. She felt him hold her briefly, but then he dropped his arms and stepped away.

"No, Kara…No. This wasn't…I should have known I wasn't fit for anyone anymore. I'm damaged goods. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you, if I—"

"Lee, don't think that way." Kara grabbed his face with both hands, willing her strength to him. We've come this far…I'm not going to run. Neither are you, okay? I know you love me, Lee, and—"

Lee pushed her backwards, despondent. "I can't afford to love you, Kara, or anyone. We don't try to kill people we love, unless we're beyond the reach of hope. I'm there, and I didn't even know it. I thought…I thought I could have more than just being a soldier…but I was wrong. I'm too frakked up for anything else. Be with Zak, Kara. He loves you deeply, and you said you're happy with him. You and he deserve that." Lee moved purposefully towards the car.

"Gods, Lee, you can't mean what you're saying!" He turned to face her; the agony etched in her features nearly undid him. He tried to soften his voice; instead, his tone came out flat and cold.

"I'm leaving. Please don't contact me, Kara; just focus on Zak, on the Adama who's whole and can give you a life worth having. I'll…I won't be at the house by the time you both get back, so don't worry about running into me at my mom's place. Tell Tom I'll him I'll call him once I've taken care of a few things."

Kara stood with her feet apart, arms coiled as though for a fight, her mouth gaping. She wanted to get into the car with Lee or knock him unconscious to keep him in place until the others returned, and she was petrified he might try to take his own life. Something in his voice, however, stopped her in her tracks. She was still Kara Thrace, who needed no one and certainly didn't chase after a man who was rejecting her.

Obviously, Lee had no faith in her, in their bond; he didn't believe she could help him or would stand by him. With that truth taunting her, Kara acknowledged her mother was right about her, as always; life-changing love wasn't possible for a Thrace, and certainly intense happiness was a pipe dream. Kara might be able to find contentment, if she worked hard to be worthy of that. It was the most she should reach for.

Lee placed the bags in the trunk. He got into the car without another word, and sped off without looking back.

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_**Sit Rep (past): Caprica City, Six Months after Apollo's return **_

Lee and Tom had been in the sims for hours, going through the series of maneuvers Lee would need to complete in order to pass the test pilot admissions evaluation. Tom was relentless, as he had been for the last three months, coaching his friend back to some semblance of normalcy. They both knew it was only a surface change; Lee was not "his normal self," and likely wouldn't be again.

The truth, as Tom understood and accepted now, was that the Lee Adama he'd embraced as his friend was probably gone for good. In his stead was a person only half-human, disconnected from the soul. This Lee was cold, even calculating at times, with a death wish well-suited to the test pilot life.

Tom knew it wasn't that Lee didn't still care for others. He was grateful for the Tom's help to get his physical prowess back and recover his flying skills. In his own way, Lee tried to show Tom his appreciation, often helping with projects and ensuring he put the right words in the right ears to secure an early promotion for Tom to Captain. But Lee kept everyone at more than arm's length any more, emotionally. Even Tom didn't know the details of what had happened back at the cabins three months earlier.

It wasn't for a lack of trying; Tom pressed Lee any number of times for details. He could feel the anguish radiating from Lee, and sensed anger and frustration from Kara. Clearly, something significant passed between the two. The resolution Tom originally hoped for, however, hadn't manifested. Lee was even more twisted inside about Kara Thrace, and Tom believed Kara fared no better, despite her recent engagement to Zak.

There was no use in digging deeper, Tom finally concluded, because Lee had moved on, if nothing else. He accepted Tom's help with his recovery, and Lee did see one of the counselors on base about the post-traumatic stress episodes. If Lee was hardened, he was at least functioning, and Tom couldn't extend himself further than he already had if his friend didn't want more from his life or for himself any longer.

Tom heard the whispers, though, the rumors suggesting Lee was permanently scarred emotionally. The worst ones focused on his penchant for escorts; Lee would pick out a new woman every week, the stories ran, and they couldn't be blondes. He had strong sexual appetites, according to these women, but he was aggressive and detatched; other than the physical release, he seemed to derive no pleasure from the experience.

Equally disturbing, Lee actually seemed to avoid sleep. He was frequently observed punching the heavy bag until he sank to his knees in exhaustion; some claimed they regularly found him sleeping on a locker bench the following morning. How Lee managed to perform so well in his sims flight training, given these behaviors, was a testament to his overall skill. Tom wondered how high Lee's scores would be if he were getting regular rest.

Truthfully, they couldn't improve much higher, since he was beating his own records each week, closer to the score maximum. No matter what had happened to him, Lee was still an ace flier.

It was time for Lee to take the test; Tom knew broaching the subject, however, was going to be tricky.

"Hey, Tom, did you see the last maneuver I added at the end of this run? It worked out pretty well, actually." Lee was stepping out of the machine, unzipping his flight suit.

Tom moved to follow; they headed to the showers. "Yeah, that was an impressive move, Apollo. Think you're ready for the actual flight test?"

Lee glanced over at his friend as they walked. "I was wondering when you might bring that up."

Tom tried to act casual, although Lee's flat tone made it difficult. "Didn't want your ego getting too big too soon, hotshot—you take enough risks now to challenge Starbuck's title." Tom mentioned her name on purpose; he was going to have to talk about her sooner or later in relation to the upcoming test, so he might as well find out how Lee reacted to her these days.

As expected, Apollo's body tensed up immediately. "Don't compare us, Tom."

"Well, you need to get used to it, fly boy, because everyone else will."

Lee shot Tom an angry look. "Why's that? She's a flight instructor, not the gods' gift to—"

"She happens to be the lead for the test pilot examination, Apollo."

Lee stopped walking. "She does the scoring?" He was obviously unnerved by the idea.

"No, not the scoring. That's actually done by computers and a board reviewing the flight videos afterward."

"So what's her role?"

"She's responsible for what the test consists of: which maneuvers, in which order, and she can toss in any surprises as she sees fit. There's no flight plan; the pilot has to respond to her commands and follow her lead."

"How the frak did Kara end up with that much say-so?"

"She's the legendary Starbuck, remember? You're the one who predicted she'd make the history books, Apollo. Seems the Admiral Board agreed with your assessment."

Lee cursed under his breath. "Of all the frakkin' things to deal with, after everything else."

Tom pulled Apollo's arm, heading towards the showers again. "You could talk about the 'everything else' part…it might help."

Lee spat out a hostile response. "Tom, the last time I listened to your advice about Kara Thrace, it ended in a painful disaster. You mean well, but I'm not going to talk to you or anyone else about what happened. It's over; I dealt with it my own way."

Tom's anger increased as well. "By humping prostitutes every chance you get? Classy, Lee."

Lee stopped in his tracks, fists gripped. "If you hadn't done so much for me, Tom, I'd strike you where you stand for that comment."

"For telling the truth?" Tom wasn't going to back down.

"It's none of your business."

"Agreed. It isn't. But I used to consider you the man I'd want at my wing no matter what, and I can't say that any more, Apollo. _Now_ you're a loose cannon, in my book."

"How does using an escort service equate to recklessness? I haven't endangered—"

"Lee, for frak's sake, don't patronize me. The prostitutes are just a symptom of something else. You did the one thing I tried so hard to help you see would be too destructive—you made the situation with Kara larger than life, and now look at where you are, flying around with a death wish and cold to anyone who tries to reach you, who cares about you!"

The fist connected with Tom's jaw at lightening speed. Looking back on it, Tom shouldn't have been surprised; at the time, however, as he fell backwards from the force of it, Tom was aghast.

The new, detached Lee didn't apologize. He went for an ice pack and handed it to Tom, before walking off; they exchanged no words with one another for a week afterward. At last, Tom sent Lee an electronic message, apologizing for his part in the provocation, and telling Lee how to arrange for the test. Lee wrote back, offering no explanations, only thanking Tom for his friendship. The two communicated infrequently after the incident, and didn't see each other for some time to come.

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Lee was pacing in front of the viper, unsure if he was anxious about the test, or simply ready to jump out of his skin because he was about to see Kara. They'd only had a few electronic exchanges, just over the past two days, setting up the time and arrangements. He hadn't heard her voice since the day he'd left the cabins.

No matter how Zak had pleaded with Lee, his brother would tell him nothing of the reasons for his sudden departure those months ago, and he steadfastly refused to see Zak if there was a chance Kara might be around. The reality of that wasn't lost on Zak, of course; he was left with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his gut whenever he considered the reasons for such careful avoidance. Kara was no different, which worried Zak even more, but when she agreed to marry him, Zak decided his future wife had secrets he would need to live with if he wanted a successful marriage.

Zak and Kara's wedding was six weeks away; as Lee waited for her arrival, he hoped they could get through this experience with enough civility left over to navigate through that big day. As the best man, he could hardly avoid her. Standing there, Lee thought about how he desperately needed to pass this test, have his acceptance and new job already in motion by the time the wedding day arrived. That way he'd have something to hold onto, something to help him remember he had a future, even if it was only a shell of a life.

His head turned as he saw Kara walking up, her Starbuck strut on full display, cigar in hand, sunglasses in place, hair lightly moving in the wind. She still took his breath away. He gulped and wiped his hands against his tanks, his flight suit still not completely zipped up. He stuck out a hand; she took it and shook firmly, with a rapid release.

"Hey, Apollo. Ready to show what you've got?"

"Today's the day, Starbuck. It's our first time flying together. Should be memorable, don't you think?" He smiled; it carried no warmth, only a challenge.

"Skids up, then. Good luck." She sauntered towards her bird, not looking back; he closed up his flight suit and climbed into the cockpit. Ten minutes later, they were in the air; Kara began laying out the maneuvers.

For the next ninety minutes, Lee experienced true happiness again. Starbuck's voice vibrated warmly in his ear, and they both discovered they anticipated each other's moves with a preternatural accuracy. She inserted changes in rapid succession; he continued to match her, move for move. Her instructions were interspersed with flirtatious commentary, which Lee likewise matched, word for word. Unsurprisingly, he was getting painfully hard, as the headiness of the flying and innuendos mixed in a high-tylium concoction, making it difficult to keep himself from imagining her, making love to her, the feeling of being inside her...

He gripped the stick tightly, the irony of the situation hardly lost on him. "Frakkin' concentrate, Apollo," he muttered.

Kara heard it anyway. "Losing focus, flyboy? Can't have that up here."

"No, Lieutenant Thrace, not at all. Next orders?" He was amazed he could keep his voice so firm and even.

"We're done—I don't do the scoring, but you just exceeded every examination flight I've seen, and you also managed to break one test flight record today. I'd say that was a good performance, Apollo."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Thrace," was his only reply, not the yell of triumph sounding in his head.

"Okay, let's land the birds. Be sure to wait until I've signed off on your post-check."

"Confirmed." Lee was puzzled; it seemed an odd request. As he shifted awkwardly in his seat, his erection still pulsed tight against his body. G_et that body under control, Apollo! She doesn't need to know the state you've been in for the last thirty minutes!_

Lee's head was filled with a jumble of images. He was thinking about the maneuvers they'd just completed together, and the sound of her voice almost in his head; he was picturing her underneath him, eyes locked with his own, climaxing in an intense wave of emotion, her voice rasping his name as she came. The feel of Starbuck's hand actually in his own startled him out of his racing thoughts.

"Let's get out of here, okay?" Lee nodded, ready to follow her anywhere. Her skin glistened with a light sweat and he felt his hard-on surge again.

She was moving at a near jog, pulling them in a narrow space between two buildings. It was dark and intimate and related to nothing.

Before he knew it, her lips were frantically pressed against his, making him sink his back into the wall for support as conscious thought was overwhelmed by the scent of her and the feel of that hot tongue dipping into his mouth. Her hands were sliding across his face, and he heard her whispering "I missed you, missed you, missed you" as she thrust a tongue into his ear before sucking forcefully against his neck and then returning hungrily to his mouth once more.

He was so hard he was in agony. Numb fingers groped at the zipper to her flight suit, anxious to feel any part of her against him. She let her tongue explore with his own as she yanked his zipper down, eagerly reaching down to grip his erection and stroke his balls.

Lee moaned; he was lost, utterly lost in her. He let his hands reach under her tanks, rolling her nipples in his fingers, and felt her slide against him with a heat that still surprised him.

He lifted her shirt to let his tongue glide over her taut nipple, while his hands feverishly sought out her wet center. He entered her with two fingers, a rapid rhythm to match what he wanted to do with his body, and felt her come around him almost immediately. Pulling her hair, forcing her head back, he looked in her eyes.

"You were just as turned on…" Lee moaned in awe. He could see by the desire there she had been as aroused. "Gods, Kara, I want you, to be inside you…"

"Yes, Lee. Now. Frakkin' now."

"But we might—"

"As long as I get to feel what it's like to have you again, Lee Adama, I don't care if I get arrested…"

The old Lee would have stopped; as he was now, the thought of being discovered only excited him more. He guided her hand down against his hard-on, panting as she fisted him. He was already so close to climaxing, and he had to feel himself driving into her…had to come deep inside her.

They pushed off the flight suits and other clothing to their ankles. Lee flipped Kara around, so her arms pressed against the other wall, and he lifted her just enough to thrust hard, entering in one move. She was moaning his name, and he gripped her hips, sliding roughly, each time colliding against her ass as he drove himself over and over. He had no sense of anything except the feeling of her; how much he'd been torn apart with this longing so deep he couldn't name it or begin to satisfy it…except with Kara.

Massaging her breasts in his hands, he kept up the rapid thrusting, unable to focus on more than what his release would feel like. A hand gliding against her neck, Lee pulled her head towards him, kissing her deeply as his moved against her body and used his fingers to stimulate her over the brink. She came a second time, in loud gasps, her face pressed against his, her arm now wrapped behind his neck.

He kept thrusting. "Kara, have to come, have…no one else ever like this…" he felt himself empty into her, groaning like an animal as he continued driving, letting the orgasm stretch out, hunger still there. He had climaxed, and a few minutes later, he was still hard and sliding into her; his need was so overpowering, he couldn't stop, couldn't get enough of Kara.

She stilled his movement and lifted off of him; he growled in desperation. "No, Kara, no…need more…"

A soon as she was facing Lee, he felt her grab him and guide him inside again. "I know…feel the same…Gods, Lee, what are we going to do?" She was panting in his ear, but the question was more plaintive than teasing. Her voice was thick with unexpressed feelings. He started moving with her recklessly, the desire insatiable. "Kara, I…I missed you so much…still lost without…" He stopped as she captured him in a deep kiss. Then their eyes met fully, for the first time since they'd seen each other that day; he could read the pain and questioning in her green depths. And love…yes, still there, still so intense for both of them. He felt tears sting behind his eyes. Lee looked way; it was too much to bear. He wasn't sure if he could walk away from her as it was, and…

She shifted her weight, and Lee gasped as he felt himself move deeper. He put a hand around her waist, letting his other hand play with her, twisting her pulsing clit. He felt his own surge building; he pushed her back into the opposite wall, ramming towards climax, all awareness gone. She stifled a cry as the brick scraped her back; she was shattering around him, heat pulsing. "Kara…I love you, Kara…" he almost sobbed as he was coming the second time. His balls tightened painfully; this climax was more potent, and he threw his head back in an altered state as he filled her again.

They leaned heavily against each other, breathing shallowly. He pulled her slightly upright, brushing her hair away before kissing her, with a tenderness he hadn't been sure he could still find in himself. The sound of voices in the distance shook them out of their trance; both reached quickly to pull up their underclothes and flight suits. Tying the arms around the waist, it was possible to at least appear normal, should someone come upon them now.

Kara grabbed Lee's face with her hands. "Lee, what…I'm so confused…help me understand. I'm supposed to…to marry Zak…in six weeks…"

Lee stepped away from her, coldness seeping into his pores as he realized what he had to do now to fix this. "I know…I seem to remember you kissing me to kick this thing into high gear—"

That's not the frakkin' point, Adama. You said…"

"I know godsdamned well what I said, Thrace. And it was the heat of the moment, okay? That's all. You can move forward with your happy life, trust me." Lee was filled with anger; he was still damaged goods; nothing had changed. He wanted so much for it to all be different…

But it couldn't be. Ever.

"Why are you lying? That was more than 'heat of the moment.' Those words are on the tip of your tongue each time we…we do this." He flinched at the torment in her voice, but turned to look straight at her, letting his fury mask everything else dying inside as he spoke the lie again.

"Think what you want, Thrace; I'm not much further along than the last time we had this conversation. Hell, if you talk to Muskrat, I'm worse. And you're in love with my brother, _remember_? You chose him a long time ago, when you thought I was dead, and it would be better if we just maintained the distance we've kept over the past three years. It's more familiar than…"

"Than what just happened? Familiar, yes; the right path…"

"It_ is_ the right path. I don't believe in the gods, Kara, and I'm not tortured about some destiny we're missing. I _am_ horrified by the idea of destroying anything in my brother's life, a person better than the both of us put together. This was a mistake…and that's _all_ it was."

The hurt from Kara was palpable, but Lee forced himself to begin walking away, back towards the main lockers for the pilots. He stopped, though, turning back once. She was standing there, sunglasses back on, unreadable.

"Thanks for the help, Starbuck. With a little luck, I'll be moving to Picon in two week. I'll be out of your hair for good."

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_**Sit Rep (past): Picon and Caprica City, Seven Months after Apollo's return **_

Lee was in bed with a woman named Judy. He'd actually picked her up at a bar, instead of calling an escort service; she had short blond hair and a sassy attitude that physically aroused him, at least, despite his normal prohibition against blondes. He wasn't aware of Judy as a person anyway, and knew it wasn't possible. He just wanted someone to frak while he imagined he was actually inside Kara. The women he bedded rarely complained; he was sure to satisfy them as he played out his fantasies. Invariably, though, he'd slip, and say Kara's name out loud, which cut several evenings short. The escort service women had been easier because they didn't care if he called them someone else. Still, if he limited his liquor, like tonight, he could control his words enough to make the illusion work for both of them, and he always went to the woman's place, so he could slip out afterward and not have to deal with any other pretense.

Lee had just settled into a small apartment on Picon and found test flying to be a relief, if nothing else. He'd already impressed the other pilots since his arrival, and the engineers were beginning to salivate with thoughts of what they could build for him try out next.

In the first three weeks, Lee had made two emergency landings, with the full fire and medical crews called out to the tarmac. Both times, he walked away without a scratch. The others on base were already calling him the new "deathman," a term reserved for those pilots who lived on the extreme edge, risking their lives for test flying on a consistent basis. Lee was certain, when that news reached his father's ears, he'd be quite displeased; in Lee's book, that only increased the enjoyment of it.

The evenings were harder. Lee couldn't drink on weeknights, because of the job, and he wished there were other escapes besides sex he could try. He went out with the other test jocks a couple of times, to play cards, but it wasn't enough to hold his attention, and he fidgeted endlessly until it was time to leave. So he went back to his other favorite method of distraction: exercising to exhaustion. Except now, he was careful to make it back to his apartment, so the rumors about his strange habits wouldn't start up again here. No sense risking his assignment simply because he was completely and permanently frakked in the head.

Lee and Judy had just finished their first round of sex when his mobile phone went off. He jumped; the phone rarely rang, and no one usually tried him at this time of night.

It was the Commander on Watch; he needed Lee to come over to the main building, right away. Panic filled Lee's heart; he knew it could only mean someone had very bad news to deliver to him,_ in person_. Making his excuses to Judy, Lee took a quick shower, then drove quickly to the base.

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The Commander walked into the room, and sat down with Lee as he delivered the devastating facts: there had been an accident where Zak's plane collided with another mid-air, killing both pilots. Lee needed to travel home right away. William Adama would pick Lee up at the Academy air field to take him to his mother's house. While normally the military would use a non-FTL transport, the Commander was authorizing a raptor with FTL be used for this trip, saving nearly a day's travel.

Lee couldn't move after the Commander finished with the short list of details as he fought for a basic sense of reality. It didn't seem plausible. Zak was getting married in two weeks. He couldn't be dead. Lee had survived battles and crashes and injuries; surely Zak, the one with so much goodness and promise, would make it through any calamity.

And if Zak was dead, it meant his relationship with his father was now over, because this was his father's doing. He should never have pushed the committee, never made those calls to get Zak accepted into the new compressed flight training program Kara had designed. Tom had been the one to share that piece of information with Lee, during one of their exercise sessions; he didn't think anyone knew about Commander Adama's influence, but thought Lee should be aware of the facts, in case there were rumors later about Zak's qualifications.

Zak had only passed basic flight a week ago; Lee hadn't traveled to Caprica for the event, since he couldn't take time off from his new job.

_I should have gone…should have seen for myself…_

Lee was consumed by guilt. The Commander's hand on Lee's shoulder pulled him out of himself momentarily. "Captain, I realize how…painful this must be, but you need to get your things together for the transport. It leaves in an hour. I've arranged for my driver to take you back to your apartment, to make things easier."

Lee could only nod slightly as he stood up. His legs felt like dead weight under him; it was arduous to move towards the door. As he stepped towards the waiting car, Lee turned to shake the Commander's hand and thank him for his thoughtfulness. He used as few words as possible, because talking seemed inadequate and frustrating. His tongue was clumsy against his teeth; it was simpler to rely on gestures to get through the next few hours.

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For two days, Lee dutifully played his part: grieving brother, supportive son, consoling friend. He was almost absent of any emotion; it was a control he'd mastered, a state he could maintain with relative ease. Lee promised himself that would change, once he returned to Picon. He was the surviving Adama son now, and he could best honor Zak's memory by becoming more of the person his brother used to admire.

Lee had to mature; it was time. He could put Kara behind him, offer skills of value to the military, make something of his life. And even if he couldn't—didn't—establish emotional intimacy, he could still learn to be kind again, learn to pay attention to the needs of others. The coldness in his personality didn't have to become permanent, not if Lee wanted to change.

Apollo vowed to make amends with the people from his past, save one: William Adama. Even though Lee recognized, deep down, Zak would want him to forgive their father, the anger was too great to overcome. Perhaps that was an excuse; maybe Lee just wanted a place for his trusty companion of _resentment_ to continue to reside. He practically vibrated with long-seated fury, and it ensured he put one foot in front of the other, when nothing else worked.

So Lee would channel the rage towards his father, keep it contained to one area of his life he was able to control. There was no need to see William Adama now, not after this loss, and residence on Picon ensured Lee could direct his anger towards his target with impunity. There would be no confrontations or conversations to change the dynamic beyond the funeral.

A somber reception at his mother's house was planned after the burial; Lee determined that was the best time to make apologies, where he could, before he headed back to Picon. First Lee approached Tom Warren. It was a surprisingly good conversation, with Tom readily welcoming back his friend. The even promised to talk more regularly in the future. Throughout the discussion, Lee could see Tom's eyes dart to Kara and back to him; he wanted, even now, to try to help Lee gain closure with her.

"Tom, you're a better friend than I've ever deserved, and I can see what's on your mind."

"I…gods, we don't need any more tensions over that subject, Apollo. It's only…."

"I'm going to talk to her, Tom, I promise. It's the least I can do. I expect it will be the last time I see her and I really want to let go of that past. I pledge to you—no more monster running my life."

"Does that mean no more, you know, paid companionship?"

"Yeah, Musket, that's what it means. I'm not sure I'm cut out for a romantic relationship with marriage and kids and growing old with someone, but I'm going to try to at least establish a genuine connection with someone again."

"You might consider easing up on the 'deathman' stunts too. You've been giving your mother high blood pressure with that."

"The news travels that fast?"

"Uh-huh. They're all worried, honestly, especially…"

"Especially now, since I'm the only—" Lee choked on the words.

Tom moved to embrace Lee briefly; it kept him from breaking into tears. Lee didn't want to have a public breakdown…he needed to support his mother, not cause additional concern.

"Hey, Kara's alone right now. This might be a good time to approach her." Lee nodded. "Good luck, Apollo. Call me next week, okay?"

"I promise, Tom. Thank you for…for everything you've done. I've never properly shared how much you've meant to me, and I…you're a special friend."

"So are you, Lee Adama. Talk to you soon." Tom smiled softly as he walked off; Lee walked towards Kara Thrace.

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"Hello, Kara." Lee was standing in front of her, admiring her carriage; in the face of so much grief, Kara was still self-possessed and captivating.

Kara jumped slightly at his voice. They'd spoken very little in the course of the last few days, and she'd almost come to expect they wouldn't have a real conversation. It was simply too difficult, too complicated.

Lee held out his hand. "Care to take a step outside? The fresh night air might feel good, and I wanted…I'd like to share something with you."

Kara stood, taking his arm. They stepped onto the back patio; there was a table off to one side where no one was sitting, and they made their way toward it.

For a few minutes, neither said anything. Then Lee cleared his throat, knowing he had to have some courage and make amends as best he could.

"I should have apologized to you some time ago, Kara, and I regret my lack of backbone and maturity." He paused, making sure he thought she was ready for him to continue along the same lines.

"I'm very sorry for what happened back at the cabins. I'm grateful, _have_ been grateful for a long time, to know you understood how it might have developed, even if the outcome was unforgivable. I did work with a PTSD counselor and I've taken action to ensure I never, um, endanger anyone else that way." Lee felt like wincing at how cool and detached his words sounded, as if he were talking about someone else. Gods knew what Kara made of them.

Not much, given how clipped her own response was. "I'm glad you found some help." Lee sensed she wanted to say more, but she was keeping a tight rein over her words and expressions.

"I'm also sorry for what took place…that day at the air field. What I said afterward. I was…I shouldn't have tried to push you away, not that way. I couldn't…I wasn't able to get past certain things, and I owed you, owed Zak, more. I should have shown more restraint, not let my needs…drive things."

"I was equally responsible for that day. I've always wanted to let you know I regretted putting you in that…position."

Lee dared to look into her eyes; they were full with tears. "It seems I'm always making you cry, Kara Thrace. You need to know…I won't do it any more. I wanted to make amends, so we can have a clean break from—"

"From each other. It's time, I suppose." Kara stared back at Lee, and he thought he saw…she wasn't convinced of her own words. Then again, neither was he. Lee was as drawn to Kara as he'd been from the day he first saw her; _that_ hadn't lessened over time, regardless of the events occurring in between. But he believed their only salvation—given the myriad ways they'd hurt each other, and Zak's death—lay in closing that door between them for good. It was the only viable solution left to them.

"So, this is it, huh? This is where we part ways." Kara was trembling slightly, and Lee felt the overwhelming urge to sweep her into his arms, holding fast, though he understood he had to accept those impulses were about to become things of the past.

"Think so. I'll always…want the most for you, Kara, your fulfillment in life. Please remember that."

She nodded. "Same back at you, Lee Adama."

Lee stood up. He wasn't sure how to actually close the conversation, and if he continued to look in those eyes, watch that face, he might lose his resolve after all.

"Wait, Lee. Before you go, you need you to hear something from me. I didn't want…I thought I should tell you directly."

He went still, wondering what she was going to reveal. "Your father…he offered me a pilot position on the Galactica, and I accepted."

Shocked, Lee sat back down. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders. What would posses her to do such a thing? He understood, though, he had no right to pass judgment on her choice. They weren't going to see each other again anyway, and this news just ensured he could stick to his promise.

"Oh. If you wanted that, then I'm glad it's happening. Honestly. He'll…you'll be in good hands on that battlestar, Kara. William Adama's considered a strong leader; his crew worships him."

Kara smiled, even as tears finally rolled down her cheeks. "That's kind of you to say, Lee, given everything."

"You'll be a great asset, Kara." She looked down at the ground, unable to figure out a response worth uttering. The tears continued to fall, and Lee thought he saw her fists grip tightly, as though she was willing herself to stay in control, not shift into actual sobbing.

Lee stood up a second time. "So, I guess…"

Kara moved rapidly, her arms suddenly around him. Lee pulled her tightly to his chest, allowed himself to revel in the feel of her against him one more time as his arms enveloped her. He started whispering in her ear, compelled to share one more private facet of himself with her alone. "I wanted…there was a piece of writing that I was going to…I was too nervous, before, to read it to you, but now…"

Kara turned her head against Lee's neck, squeezing him to signal she wanted to hear it. Lee leaned in, pressing his cheek against her hair, letting his words reverberate in his chest.

"_There's a letter on the desktop, that I dug out of a drawer; the last truce we ever came to in our adolescent war. And I start to feel the fever, from the warm air through the screen…you come regular like seasons, shadowing my dreams. _

_The river is mighty, but it starts out as a creek you that could walk across with five steps down; and I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick to my heart…but at this point you rush right through me, and I start to drown._

_And there's not enough room in this world for my pain. Signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain. Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most—I'm in love with your ghost._

_Dark and dangerous, like a secret that gets whispered in a hush, when I wake, the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush. You kiss me like a lover, then you sting me like a viper; I go follow to the river, play your memory like a piper._

_I feel it like a sickness, how this love is killing me. Still, I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly. And dance the edge of sanity—I've never been this close—I'm in love with your ghost._

_Unknowing captor, you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit, but I can't touch you…can you hear it, a cry to be free? I'm forever under lock and key, as you pass through me._

_Now I see your face before me, I would launch a thousand ships, to bring your heart back to my island, as the sand beneath me slips. As I burn up in your presence, and I know now how it feels, to be weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels._

_This bitter pill I swallow is the silence that I keep. It poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep. Though I'm baptized by your touch, I am no worse than most, in love with your ghost. You shadow my dreams."_

Lee felt Kara's legs buckle, and instantly regretted sharing the poem with her; it was too much, too personal. She began sobbing, her whole body pressed into his own, and he felt his tears fall against her hair as his heart tightened.

Finally, she looked up at him, head still resting in the crook of his neck. "You…you wrote that?"

Lee nodded slightly in affirmation, as his tears splashed her face. "I…it's about you and…and the loss…of Zak." The last word was mumbled, lips clumsy with the lie, and he cringed; was he already breaking his promises almost as soon as they had been made? She had to know it wasn't about…

Her lips moved near his, parted and wanting. He bent forward a little more…a little more…She closed the gap, sighing as their mouths touched. The kiss was sweet and gentle; it was about love alone. Lee felt her hands slip deep into his hair, and he cradled her body against him, tilting her backward. He lost awareness of time, until he felt her arms gently pushing them up again.

Kara stepped back, wiping tears from her face and resting a hand against her lips.

"Did you…is there a document…a copy of that? I'd like to…since we won't be talking any more…"

Lee held his breath. "I did bring a written copy, Kara. I'm…honored you would want to…keep it."

"I would." Lee handed her the page from his pant's pocket.

Looking at the ground, Kara tried to compose herself. "You'd probably better go now, Lee; I'm sure someone's looking for you." Lee acknowledged her words, even though every cell in his body seemed to be screaming he was making a mistake. He'd been so certain this was the most sensible path to follow, given their history, but something felt so horribly wrong as he was making it final and real.

Kara turned her body away from him; he had no choice but to will his legs to move. He was careful not to look back. He retired to his room as soon as he could feasibly make an escape that night, and caught the next transport back to Picon in the morning.

A/N: "Poem" is actually full lyrics from _Ghost_, by the Indigo Girls

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Reviews appreciated. Please note this is Part A of Chapter 11; Part B immediately follows.


	13. Ch 11B: Greater Darkness Part B

CHAPTER 11 CONTINUED—PART B

**CHAPTER 11 CONTINUED—PART B**

**Sit Rep (present): Pegasus, Fourteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation of New Caprica**

Lee looked up, half expecting the Priestess to be gone, a figment of his imagination. She was there, however, still holding his hand. He realized his face was damp, and even his shirt; he had apparently been crying for some time, unaware.

"You've carried these events as a secret for all these years…" the Priestess said gently.

"Yeah." Lee's voice was low, barely audible.

"So many secrets to harbor, Lee Adama, for yourself and for others. That drains the soul."

"Yeah." He hadn't thought about it that way, but the exhaustion that never quite went away, deep in his bones…it was related to these secrets. Lee could perceive that in this moment.

"I'm going to ask you to visit another set of painful memories, Lee, to remember what happened on New Caprica."

Lee locked his gaze with the old woman. "I think…I actually understand the connection now. I'm not sure why I couldn't…I should have been more…"

"You were both in a fog of emotional pain, Apollo. The trials are necessary to prepare the way."

"I thought Kara knew I was different, on New Caprica, that I was ready to follow through completely."

"Were you?"

"I…I believed it at that time. What are you getting at?"

"All the seeds had been planted before, Apollo. Kara herself understood the connection was meant to be a foundation for the times ahead. Your worlds were destroyed, yet it didn't it occur to you perhaps she had been more perceptive than you gave her credit for? Out of billions of people who died in that span, on a ship that was to be decommissioned, on the last week of your active duty, you and Kara Thrace were brought back together." She paused, letting her statements sink in. "Didn't you feel the impulse to approach her before New Caprica?"

Lee bristled. "That sounds like an accusation."

"Not mine, but your own, Apollo. I'm only echoing more secrets you've buried; they need rise to the surface and be burned away in the light of the dawn."

Lee sighed in resignation. "Of course I was drawn to her…loved her. But so much time had passed. I didn't know if she still felt…she didn't give any hint she thought about...us. Gods, at one point, she even said 'there is no _us_! '. We had our friendship; somehow that survived everything else.

"If I thought about her 'perceptiveness,' it seemed possible the friendship was what was _divinely_ planned for the two of us. We'd hurt each other so much in the past, and every time I thought about crossing the line of friendship, I'd try to read her and I…there didn't seem to be much to pin my hopes on.

"Once…I'd thought about what happened with Baltar, the missed opportunity I probably had the night of the Colonial Day celebration, and I was going to reach out for her. But she took off for Caprica. It was too late, by the time she returned…Anders had connected with her instead."

"So little faith, Lee. Can't you see how destructive that's been, how much it's cost you? The dream didn't come until later…and even then, it was to warn you there was still time. But you waited…and waited. What Kara did, oh it was harmful and immature, to be sure, but also something you can relate to, if you open your heart to see the parallels. Right or wrong, Kara lacked faith too, in herself _and_ in you."

"What's the point of all this? Remembering, examining…it's excruciating!" Lee was feeling the anxiety and grief building to a dangerous level inside. What did this creature want with him?

"_The point_ is that you need to forgive, first; forgive her, yourself, your father. And then, Apollo, you need to commit; fully, completely, without question, so that Kara can know, can experience that unwavering commitment. It will not be easy, and certainly won't work, at first. You're going to be tempted—very tempted—to lose your faith in her again. Which is when—"

"When I'm to become motionless. Whatever the frak _that _means." Lee's sarcasm hung in the air.

The Priestess stood up. "Apollo, your skepticism will be the destruction of everything. I fear we were wrong to choose you, wrong to let your obsession with Starbuck dominate so much over each cycle. You have been too long without the wholeness of your soul, and perhaps there's no way to bring you back now. It is time for me to go; based on what's transpired, I don't think we'll meet again."

She didn't finish a singe step before Lee jumped towards her, grabbing her hand once more. "Wait…wait. I wasn't…I'm stronger than I appeared to be just then. Please…"

"Please what, Apollo? Have trust? Confidence? _Faith_? How can we bestow something you cannot find within? Over and over, you are given signs, support, portents…and _still_ you hold back. Even as you are to embark on the most important part of your journey to date, you leave things to chance, refuse to prepare for your core mission. Helo counseled you correctly, and you are defiant. Not merely unaware, Apollo, but insolent! If you cannot step into the breach, after all that has been done to prepare…" the Priestess shook her head in resignation.

Apollo put his hand to the Priestess' face, gripping her neck to stare fully into her dark eyes. Something in his gut was threatening to implode, a frantic pulse building through his spine; he _knew_ he had to break past all the doubts. Doubts about himself, about Kara, about the purpose of existence, about the quest for Earth. If he didn't, in this moment…if the Priestess walked out…the utter vacuum of nothingness would finally overtake him—overtake all of_ them,_ the human race.

"I_ am_ committed. I see the…the support, the harbingers…I _do_ believe now. I do _believe_."

The Priestess looked deep into Lee's face, saying nothing for several minutes. At last, she nodded, as though responding to voices he couldn't hear.

"Tomorrow, there will be another sign. Once heralded, gather the people, profess your faith, and lead them in an open prayer. If you are truly ready to lay down all that you have been and assume the yoke of leadership, as prophesied by the Lords of Kobol, the words for the path to the Eye of Jupiter will manifest. Those present will be in awe, ready to follow you, the god of colonization. If you are lacking in full faith, Lee Adama, expect nothing, and prepare the people for their end." Her voice was definitive and menancing.

Lee recognized the importance of his next actions. His legs were shaking, but his voice rang out clearly. "The gods' will be done."

The woman studied him intently for a moment longer. "Motionless means to surrender your will to another, freely, without conditions. You give everything over to Starbuck, and have faith she will carry you and your burdens, for as long as it takes. It's the only way, Apollo, as I stated before; she can never know absolute faith in herself until she sees it through your eyes."

"Thank you. For explaining."

She turned her head to the left, then paused. "The gods have decided to make the moment of transition easier to identify, Lee. When the time comes, you'll become profoundly still. It will feel as though it has all ended before it began, but you'll comprehend the true significance…because _now _you believe. You do believe, Lee Adama?"

"I do. In the present and going forward. I will lead the prayer tomorrow, and everyone will know. They'll see my conviction."

"The gods be with you." He heard her voice linger as she said the words, but Lee realized she was gone; he was standing alone in the room. To his amazement, every candle was extinguished, save one—the candle he had used to burnish the icon of Aurora.

Lee picked up the icon, his hand trembling. Despite his many questions, Lee resolved he was going to tap into that unknown territory of spiritual awareness, because on a fundamental, soul-changing level, he _was_ actually starting….to believe.

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**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Fifteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation, Four Weeks After the Public Square Massacre**

Baltar set the data reports down and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. He sensed he was on the verge of a conceptual breakthrough, but it was maddeningly just beyond the fringe of his conscious awareness. He decided it was time to stand and stretch his legs for a minute, see if a little food helped improve his mental functions.

Moving absentmindedly towards the kitchen area, Baltar didn't hear D'Anna enter the apartment. He was startled by her voice nearby, and dropped his glass. It shattered between his feet, one piece slicing the top of his foot. He looked down, a little detached, as the blood began flowing at a steady pace onto the floor.

"Gaius, your foot!" D'Anna grabbed his hand, trying to shake him out of an apparent stupor.

Baltar winced, the pain of the injury now beginning to fully register. "I'll need some antiseptic, and bandages. Would you…help me?"

"Of course, Gaius. Stitches may be necessary; I'll call a medic to come here, so you don't have to move." She grabbed a towel from the drawer. "Here's a clean one; wrap it around the foot, and I'll set you up in your room with your leg raised before I get help."

In fifteen minutes, a Simon model arrived and began dressing the wound. Eight stitches later, the foot well wrapped and throbbing in a relentless rhythm, the medic gave Baltar a shot of morpha. He left several more doses with D'Anna.

"Given his history…"

"Don't worry; I'll make sure I keep hold of the meds." D'Anna ushered Simon out the door, knowing it would be better to let Gaius succumb to the medication and sleep for a while.

As she re-entered the bedroom, she found the doctor in a light, fitful slumber. Moving the covers over him, planning to leave him alone for a few hours, she was surprised when he half-opened his eyes.

"D'Anna…I don't like…the drug makes me remember the past, and I'm…it's upsetting. I'd rather not be alone."

The Cylon looked at him with surprise and interest. This was a new side to the man, and she'd started all of this—the residence, setting up his research—to be able to study Baltar, learn more about what made him into the person he was.

"I understand. I'll—I'll pull the chaise next to you, and we'll both rest for a while. How's that?"

"Thank you, thank you. You don't know—"

"Obsequiousness is still unbecoming, Gaius—no need to overdo."

He flinched, and D'Anna almost regretted the comment; perhaps there was more genuineness in this moment than she gave him credit for.

"You're…you're welcome" she said, finally.

Gaius closed his eyes, letting his guard finally fall enough for deep rest. D'Anna rearranged the furniture, changed into something easy to sleep in, and began reading the pages of written analysis the scientist had clearly developed over the past days. At some point, she drifted off herself; she wasn't aware how much time had passed when she next awoke to find Baltar moaning, a light sweat breaking out across his forehead.

"Shhh, Shhh, Gaius," D'Anna said as she stroked his arm for a moment. She was aware it was an unusual movement for her, and wondered what was prompting such human motions of caring. Brushing the thought aside, she grabbed the med injection and a wet cloth from the bathroom, trying to make him more comfortable so he could fall back asleep.

As D'Anna went to re-situate herself in the chaise again, she was caught off guard as Baltar's hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her slightly forward. His face was distressed as he turned toward her. The sound in his voice created a strange feeling in D"Anna's stomach. "Nightmares…too intense. Afraid to…sleep again. Please…"

The Cylon woman's gut seemed to propel her to do something, help ease the suffering. She was almost afraid—what were these sensations? _Is this what Caprica felt, with this human_? Without being able to explain how or why, D'Anna found herself easing into the bed beside Gaius, letting the warmth of his body emanate through her as she adjusted into a comfortable position, her arm draped over the man's chest, her breath close to the left side of his face. An interesting feeling of calm diffused along her spine, and a sigh escaped her lips. Gaius sighed as well, his form sinking further into bed as the tensions ebbed; he tilted his head slightly towards D'Anna, listening to the regular in-and-out of her breathing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Much later, the Cylon awoke and tried to absorb her surroundings. She felt unusually relaxed and comfortable, until she remembered she was entwined with Baltar. With a start, D'Anna shifted her torso away from the warmth of him, a little remorseful as soon as she did. Glancing at his face, slack in a deep slumber, she was struck by the impulse to kiss him. D'Anna didn't—it was too unnerving, these feelings she was starting to have—but she could only shake the energy off by sliding from the bed quickly and leaving the room.

To her relief, Gaius remained resting for several more hours. She gave him a final injection of morpha, then moved into the living room to spend some additional time with the reports she'd found earlier. It was clear Baltar was close to solving one key mystery—the reason Cylons were stronger than humans, physiologically and immunologically. He'd discovered the nanite technology that was actually activated at the DNA level; the Cylons knew about that, of course, but wanted to see how much Baltar could put together on his own. He'd worked out how the nanites boosted and altered the DNA string formations in real time, modifying proteins to continually create new cells; the Cylons didn't age because the nanites prevented telomere shortening, which also allowed for unlimited cloning. The real-time alterations allowed their immune systems to respond to nearly every foreign body rapidly and thoroughly, at least for everything within the originally programmed spectrum.

Baltar was puzzled by the fact he could not isolate a single nanite, despite his best efforts, though he could see them in working clusters. The nanites actually seemed to have sensors or electromagnetic fields alerting them to "move away" from the scientist's tools for collection. The inventors had clearly not wanted any tampering with the programming or mechanisms once the nanites were launched in the first bio-Cylon bodies.

D'Anna understood, from Gaius' later documentation, he believed the "fields" were the genius of— and the greatest limitation for—the bio-Cylon organisms. On a physiological level, what the Cylons had is all they would ever "get," in a sense. The nanites' programming made alterations to DNA to ensure perfection within the parameters of how "perfection" had been defined for the original mechanisms.

Evolution, in the way humans understood it, could not happen for Cylons as a whole—there were no mutations. The nanites would immediately "correct" the mutation to the expected form. Adjustments went along the same boundaries—the immune responses, for example, could adapt as needed to exposures, as long as the foreign bacteria or viruses were in the known data catalogue. These were not really "adjustments" as much as new activations of untapped programming.

In Baltar's latest writings, the ones updated the previous day, he had been speculating on the answer to the second mystery—why the Cylons could not procreate with one another, and the source of the difference allowing a Cylon and human to produce offspring. He'd already reasoned that the absence of mutations was part of the problem, as was the "field" around each nanite. At the moment of conception, when the zygote started to form, the nanites could not "merge" into a unified new system. Mutations might have allowed some of the zygotes to survive the process, to "turn off" the field within a specific number of attempts, based on chance. But mutations were not possible, so no zygotes could actually be created.

However, this left the puzzle of human-Cylon pairings. Human cells could mutate, but the "assimilation" of the nanites would likely erase that advantage. Something was "turning off" the fields, maybe even turning off the nanites themselves. Unless Baltar could study a living Cylon-human child, though, he wasn't certain he could determine the mechanism in operation. As Hera was dead, and no other known "specimens" existed, Baltar thought it would take a long time to find another pregnancy/birth to study. He still ascribed to the theory that the human pheromones had an important part to play in the alternative conception—the interaction with pheromones affected the nanites in a narrow, defined way, through the biological cellular components surrounding them.

D'Anna set the documents aside and held her face in her hands, concentrating. She was amazed at how much progress Baltar had made in such a limited amount of time. When Gaius was focused and clear-headed, he was certainly a match for Cylon scientists. She also wished, not for the first time, that Hera had lived. While the death of the child had always seemed suspect, D'Anna was forced to agree Hera had probably perished, having been born too early. She blamed the humans for that, the stress they'd put the Sharon model under, the inhumane treatment the Eight had endured. So many tantalizing secrets could have been brought into the open by the birth of this miracle infant, but the Cylons were denied that opportunity for knowledge.

Something in Gaius' last entry perplexed D'Anna. He'd handwritten the name "Laura Roslin" at the bottom of the last page. What would the former president have to do with the man's research—what association could there possibly be? The Cylon resolved to ask Baltar about it, once his mental fog from the morpha cleared up.

Aware she should check on him, D'Anna stepped from the couch. Deciding it would be good to make coffee first, she was lost in thought and jolted as she collided into Gaius, who was entering the kitchen. Losing his balance, D'Anna was surprised Baltar managed to catch her; a distinct sensation, akin to an electrical current, ran up her arm as she felt his hand grip. Their eyes met and held for a suspended moment before Baltar winced and muttered under his breath. He'd been forced to put weight onto the injured foot, and it was a shock to his system. Recovering, D'Anna shifted her grip to be the one supporting _his_ body, and she walked him over to the couch.

Every touch of her hands seemed to linger longer than she planned, almost as though under another force. She slid her fingers through Gaius' neatly trimmed hair, and shivered slightly at the pleasure of the feeling, even as she questioned her judgment. The look on the man's face demonstrated his awareness; he wasn't put off by the increased level of physical contact, but he was trying to sort out the meaning of the shift. Their eyes met again, and D'Anna noticed the color and the energy in his as he stared intently.

"I'm…I thought coffee would be good. I'll make us something to eat as well, assuming you're hungry?" Her voice wandered slightly.

"That would be lovely." His hand grabbed her wrist, similar to the night before; fingers glided lightly against the inner palm, and D'Anna found her eyes closing, momentarily, another sensation of pleasure setting other reactions in motion. She pulled her arm away, and walked purposefully to the kitchen, hoping the next few minutes would give her an opportunity to figure out what was going on internally.

They didn't speak while D'Anna made breakfast; when she peered around the corner to check on him, Gaius was resting, his head sunk into the large cushions. Ready to bring the plate to him, D'Anna set the food on the coffee table, then gently shook Baltar's arm.

With a deep smile, one D'Anna was pretty sure she'd never seen on his face before, Gaius thanked her for the meal. They ate in more quiet. D'Anna was starting to figure out she was actually attracted to the scientist, despite her earlier intentions; his intellect was enticing, an expanse of knowledge and insights rare among humans…_even among Cylons_, she secretly admitted. But it was more than that. While his affected detachment was a symptom of his amorality, D'Anna sensed he was also expressive—he could care about another individual—and perhaps it didn't matter to him if it was human or Cylon. Caprica's affection for Gaius, previously so unnatural in D'Anna's view, didn't seem so hard to understand, in this light. She was forced to acknowledge she was drawn to Baltar, just like her Sister, and maybe it was time to find out more about that side of herself.

Not willing to make such a dramatic alteration in behavior just yet, D'Anna started to discuss his research.

"I've been looking over your reports, Gaius; quite impressive, what you've managed to decipher in such a short period of time."

Gaius was pleased. "I'm satisfied with the progress so far, though there's still a lot of work to do, especially in the lab. I want to come up with some formulas for increasing cell growth/replication. It will make the other sections of my experiment advance more quickly."

D'Anna nodded; she could see where he was going with that, in terms of introducing nanites to new environments and studying responsiveness.

"I saw your note about Roslin. Tell me more."

"Um. Oh, well, yes, I suppose you wouldn't…that was a little over a year ago now—her cancer, I mean. I was able to send it into remission."

"The former Colonial President had cancer?"

"I thought perhaps the Cylons were aware of that, with Boomer downloading and…that sort of thing."

"You're doing it again, Gaius. Stop the stammering; it's very distracting!"

"Right. Right." Baltar took a deep breath. He wasn't sure it was such a good idea to share the details about Roslin's cancer and her recovery; surely she was still imprisoned, and he didn't know what actions D'Anna might take based on what he was about to reveal. Unwilling to displease the Cylon, however, Baltar proceeded to outline what he originally discovered about the infant Hera's blood and the results of the transfusion. D'Anna was clearly fascinated; now the scientist was certain she intended to do something with the new information.

"Gaius, would it make a difference if you could study Roslin's blood at this point, given what you've learned through your research?" D'Anna was eyeing the man thoughtfully.

"Yes." He wanted to qualify the statement, urge her to show restraint in her treatment of Roslin; while he had his own reasons for disliking the former President, he had no stomach for violence inflicted upon her. But Baltar held his tongue. It was more important, at present, to follow where the research was leading him—because it was more important to D'Anna, and he needed to keep her close to him, aligned with him.

"It's done then. Would you need her brought to your lab tomorrow, or can you examine her in her current location?"

"I don't know where that is…"

"Gaius, don't be obtuse. Can you bring a few things and examine her elsewhere, or do you need special equipment for your work?"

"I can carry the items I'll need, D'Anna. Thank you for…this opportunity." It seemed better to say little else. Baltar wondered what condition he would find Roslin in and how acrimoniously he'd be greeted. It probably didn't matter; he was gaining access to a vein of knowledge he hadn't believed previously available.

D'Anna stood and used her apartment control panel to contact Leoben. "Baltar needs to see Roslin tomorrow, and I want her permanently moved back to the Detention Center. The primary repairs to the facility have already been made; she'll be well-guarded there, and it will make other arrangements easier to complete."

Gaius couldn't hear Leoben's side of the conversation, so he paid careful attention to D'Anna's responses, trying to glean as many insights as possible. So much had gone on "outside" that he didn't understand—only a few tidbits made it to his ears, and while he was grateful to D'Anna for helping him back to health, he was surprised at the pain he felt from the absence of human companionship.

Baltar knew the Colonials wouldn't believe it, given how much time he'd spent living with the Cylons, but he was acutely aware of his "otherness"—his feelings, his limitations, his frailty—his humanness. He was beginning to experience an altogether new sensation: longing. Seeing another human being, no matter the circumstances, finding out the fate of the Colonials…he longed to understand, somehow be a part of "them" again, even if only fleetingly and tangentially.

"…very well. Since you're insisting, Brother, we'll move both of them _and _keep them in the same cell. I fail to see the advantage, however, and if he's going to be there, then I want Baltar to examine him too." There was a pause, then D'Anna started talking again.

"You try my patience, Leoben. If you've been administering Lethe again for unauthorized experiments, and that's what you're afraid will come out…" Another pause. D'Anna's voice raised.

"Enough! We'll be at cell C223 tomorrow at 0800 and I'll expect Adama and Roslin to be there, looking clean and presentable. If you refuse or engage in deception, Brother, I'll pay a visit to your favorite pet—with the rest of the Council in tow. I'm sure we'd all be even _more_ _interested _in what you've been doing on_ that_ front."

Baltar turned away from D"Anna, not wanting her see him blanche. _Adama…which Adama? How would either Adama be on New Caprica? Gods…how bad was the situation for the Colonials…were they all trapped on the planet now? _

It felt like some mysterious object was twisting in his abdomen; he couldn't remember having a sensation quite like this before in his life. An acidic taste leapt into his throat, and he said nothing as he ran to the bathroom, fearful he'd lose his stomach in front of D'Anna.

In a few minutes, his gut more manageable, Gaius began to look at the snippets of overheard conversation and insert them into known contexts. Based on his interactions with the Cylons recently, he'd detected no energy of victory or finality. That likely meant the battlestars and other ships hadn't returned; it also implied the Colonial settlers were still largely present on the planet, though he was aware of the "terrorist" attacks and Cylon losses. He'd overheard other conversations in different locations, and knew the Cylons were growing very disillusioned with the "co-existence" social experiment.

It was a matter of time before remaining boundaries eroded. Baltar knew, conceivably, the Cylons would eradicate all but a few of the humans once their patience ran out. Nevertheless, at this moment—given an Adama and Roslin were alive—he had to believe the last threshold hadn't been crossed yet.

Gaius quickly realized he had no way to know which Adama was being held captive. If the battlestars hadn't returned, it meant the person in question had been on New Caprica at the time of the occupation. He could think of reasons that would draw either Adama to the planet—and both those women were still alive, if he understood D'Anna's comments correctly. Baltar hoped it was the younger Adama on the planet, because he had more faith the Admiral would attempt to come back for the Colonials.

Despite his relationships with certain Cylons, the longing for a life with "his own kind" was growing stronger by the minute—merely thinking about the battlestars and the flicker of an idea of "rescue" made Baltar's pulse quicken. Gaius shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the strange mixture of emotions suddenly pressing down on him. 

_Don't let her see. Remember the reality of your position right now and focus on the research…_

Baltar stepped out of the bathroom, breathing purposefully as he walked back towards D'Anna.

"What was that about? You disappeared so quickly—"

"I'm sorry. Something I ate didn't agree with me. Could be the morpha; sometimes there's side effects."

"Well, that explains why you're so pale…maybe you should rest for a little while again."

Baltar nodded, grateful for the chance to be alone. D'Anna wouldn't miss anything, and he didn't want to answer any probing questions. He wasn't sure he'd have answers, even for himself.

"You'll see Roslin in the morning. And another prisoner—the Admiral. I want you to check him out, because I think Leoben's been giving him Lethe. I don't need to explain to you the dangers…"

"No, of course not. I'll be thorough." He was surprised he could keep his voice still. Internally, the knowledge that hope could come and go so quickly made him feel slightly dizzy with sinking disappointment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Cylon Basestar, The Lorien, Fifteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Caprica was taking long, deliberate steps around the encasement pool of the Hybrid. It was a mental practice, something she'd learned to do when she was tempted to pace; pacing was frantic, and frantic movements led to racing thoughts. She knew the meeting about to take place was perilous, but so was her position with the other members of the Cylon Cabinet. In the four weeks since the public execution on New Caprica, her reactions were being carefully monitored. Several of her actions had even been censured. Cavil, D'Anna, Doral often seemed to be whispering together, stopping and eyeing Caprica hostilely as she approached. It was clear to Caprica they were planning something. The Cabinet was fracturing, and now she was considered the outsider and suspect.

She knew she wasn't alone in this treatment, although Boomer tried to distance herself from Caprica, avoiding eye contact or conversation. It was a defense. Though they hadn't talked about it, before now, Caprica was convinced the other Cylon sensed the same shifts in position and trust. It had taken a clever ruse, not only communicating with Boomer to set up this meeting, but arranging for plausible cover. Caprica had specifically 0chosen the Hybrid's control room for their meeting. She hoped, with Boomer's help, the Hybrid might provide clues as to what was happening with the Cabinet, tell them how much danger they were in.

A soft utterance of her name let Caprica know Boomer had arrived. The dark-haired Cylon walked over to her, glancing at the face of the Hybrid.

"Has she said anything you recognize?" Boomer asked anxiously.

"No. But I hadn't posed any questions to her—I was waiting for you."

"This is very dangerous, Caprica; if we're found together, talking with the Hybrid—"

"I told you I'd take care of the 'cover' for our actions, and I have. I downloaded a short sub-routine into the memories of the centurions in the relaxation room; it's untraceable and they'll report, when scanned, that we were observed in that location."

"How long?"

"Another 30 minutes."

Boomer nodded. "That should be enough."

Neither woman could think of how to start the conversation that really needed to take place. They both studied the Hybrid for a moment, listening to her sing-song murmuring. At last, Caprica spoke. "I…I've been having dreams. About _that_ day. Dark, twisted dreams…and I wake up crying out, pouring sweat."

Boomer lifted her head to take in Caprica's features. "Yeah. I haven't been _able_ to sleep. When I close my eyes, I see—and hear—that baby crying. And I remember the look on Galen's face. He bore that same expression…the one I saw when he talked to me in the cell on Galactica, after I'd shot Adama." Boomer shuddered involuntarily.

"I couldn't believe the other Cabinet members conferred without us, never mind sanctioned that atrocity, but I knew D'Anna must have had approval from the rest of them, because the third noose was already in place for…"

"…for Cally. They kept us in the dark, Caprica, knowing we'd never agree to that step. But when D'Anna killed the child—I saw it in Cavil's eyes. He hadn't expected that."

"Yet, they're plotting something_ together_."

Boomer's breath hitched. "You've had the same feeling? That they're planning…that they may…."

"Remove us from Cabinet and imprison us…or worse." The women both clenched their fists, tension and anxiety rapidly increasing. Caprica reached for Boomer's hand.

"Our best chance to protect ourselves is to find out what's going on. And the only person with eyes and ears everywhere is the Hybrid."

"What if she tells the others, Caprica?"

"I don't think she will. Only the Cabinet Leoben came here regularly, and he hasn't visited since he started with his pets."

"Why isn't he under suspicion for his involvement with the humans?"

"Because they think he's 'studying' and gaining information the Cabinet might be able to use later. They know he 'loves' Kara, but it's selfish in nature; it hasn't led him to be more sympathetic to the human view, to human values. You and I, we _changed_ as a result of loving and connecting with certain humans. We championed this 'social experiment.' And in so many ways, it's failed, but the two of us continue to empathize, to feel, to react to the humans—we've continued to defend and protect them, in our way. We're affected by what happens to them. It's illogical, in the minds of Cavil, Doral, and D'Anna especially. That makes us unpredictable, and therefore threatening."

"Do you think they intend to…box our models?"

"No. It isn't our models that are changing, just the two of us, specifically. We've become more individualized since we've spent more time around the humans."

"So the Cabinet would isolate us instead."

"That's what I suspect; we need to ask the Hybrid. And we should act quickly; we've only got fifteen minutes remaining."

"How do we…is there a ritual?" Boomer was uncomfortable and awkward around the Hybrid; the litany of words was somehow unnerving.

"It's unusual, I know, but I think we should reach in together and physically touch her."

With rapid, shallow breaths, Boomer knelt down on one side of the pool, while Caprica positioned herself on the other side. The two women placed hands on the Hybrid's shoulders. The Hybrid flinched, then arched her head back, but she continued in an even voice with the patchworked phrases that made up her language.

Caprica leaned closer to the Hybrid's ear. "We want to thank you for your service to the Cylons aboard this ship, Sister. Our individual names are Boomer and Caprica. We need to see through your eyes…need to understand what the Cabinet's intentions are. Can you help us?"

For a minute, the Hybrid's patter continued unchanged. Unexpectedly, she shifted in the pool, her body lifting to a semi-sitting position as her face swiveled around to look at Caprica.

"You have upset the balance between the one and the many, the discrete and the collective. It is evolution, which introduces randomness—chaos. The mutation cannot be controlled. This is unacceptable. The only solution is rejection."

"Rejection? Casting out?" Boomer was horrified.

"Experience omniscience." Both women gasped as the Hybrid grabbed them, yanking their arms deeper into the pool. An electrical arc shot through their chests, and then Boomer and Caprica _saw_. They were in the mind of the Hybrid, at least a portion of it, and flashes of moments, like photographs in flipping pages, flooded in.

The Hybrid let go and closed her eyes, rapidly sinking beneath the liquid. On instinct, Caprica pulled herself away and quickly grabbed the Hybrid's shoulders to reverse her movement. She breathed a sigh of relief when the Hybrid had a deep intake of breath and opened her eyes, the rapid monologue resuming in it's normal rhythm.

Boomer extracted herself from the pool as well, and moved towards Caprica, shivering. Her eyes were tight and filled with fear. "They mean to leave us on the far side of the planet, Caprica, completely cut off from contact, unable to even cross the terrain back to the human settlement. If they abandon New Caprica we'll be too far from any resurrection ship or hub to download."

"Death."

"Murder." Boomer's voice conveyed the bitterness she felt at the realization her own kind intended to kill her.

"We have to leave—head back to our quarters. Don't be seen, Boomer. I'll contact you to set up another rendezvous place. It will be tomorrow; we've only got a few days, at the most, before they enact the plan."

"We have to get off this ship, Caprica, as soon as possible."

"Start thinking of a way we can make that happen, Sister. We'll talk more tomorrow." With a quick squeeze to Boomer's arm, Caprica slipped beyond the doors; Boomer saw her turn down a corridor as she rushed in another direction.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Fifteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation, Four Weeks After the Public Square Massacre**

"Tommm," Tory panted, as Zarek broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck. The air was still biting cold, as the winds whished slyly under the tent's edges, but both of them were sweating slightly, lovesick and wrestling with desires they had no way of appeasing. There was scant privacy with more people living in the Cellar. Tom and Tory found the only avenue open for even the stealing of kisses was to disappear above the stairs for short periods.

Tory wished there were other options, because Zarek's health was still a bit tenuous, and the cold exacerbated his symptoms. As she sank more heavily into his arms, though, she had to admit she vibrated with anticipation for every one of these surreptitious interludes.

Finding himself at an impasse—any further stimulation might challenge him to do something reckless, like take over someone's heated tent just to be able to finally have his way with this woman—Zarek hissed in exasperation as he let his forehead lean into Tory's. "Gods, tell me there's some way out of this sweet torture."

She gave a throaty chuckle. "Rescue…"

Tom stood up straighter, his gloved hand rising to cover his mouth for a moment. "That. Perhaps even more frustrating." His face became serious and pained. Tory wished she'd said something else.

"It will happen, Tom—I'm certain. I've read the words from Sharon and Roslin's prophetic dream, and I'm convinced."

Tom winced; Tory realized she'd touched on another sore subject. Tom had never been allowed to know more about the translation, since at the time, he'd been involved with Caprica and was active as President.

"I'll tell you what I've figured out so far," Tory offered warmly.

Tom lifted his head, his eyes wide with interest. He gestured for her to continue.

"Here's the part I remember word for word, the only section that makes any sense to me right now.

'_Behold, the red-haired fighter falls, laid low by fear and deception. No god will take pity on her now. The darkest among the seven will claim her—the torch—as he has claimed the dawn and will soon claim the moon. Oppressive skies obliterate the sight of the gods and the sight of The One Who Created the Light. The true instruments of illumination, extinguished or nearly so, must crawl in the blackness to find the remaining hope—the candle. One candle remains lit among seven, protected from the winter wind. _

'_The candle will re-ignite the Sun, and the words the people utter in thanksgiving will embolden The One Who Created Light to breathe stars into being once more.'"_

"You came up with a meaning to that?" Tom was impressed—he couldn't have guessed anything after the first sentence, which clearly seemed to refer to Laura Roslin.

Tory started dissecting the phrases. " 'The darkest among the seven'—I think that means Leoben, since we know, from the failed detention rescue attempt, Leoben was holding Roslin. He was also holding Kara, and now…"

"Now Leoben has Admiral Adama. The 'dawn and the moon,' then?" Tom was surprised how quickly that fit together.

"Yes, I think so. The 'oppressive skies' seems to refer to our current situation—many feel the gods have abandoned us or simply can't 'see' us. And as…well, as pretentious as it might sound, I think the remaining leadership group, those of us in the Cellar who are leading the Resistance, we're the 'instruments of illumination.' Apollo would fit that description too." Tory was a little breathless with the excitement of sharing her realizations with someone else.

"So what does 'crawling in the darkness' mean? Have you figured out who's the 'candle?' "

"Not yet. Those phrases don't fit anything I recognize." Tory frowned, aggravated she hadn't made it any further in solving the riddle.

"Well…'one among seven, protected from the winter wind'—that suggests a Cylon model." Tom was deep in thought.

"And the only Cylon who's among us is Sharon." A gut feeling of recognition hit Tory.

"Sharon…staying with us in the Cellar." Tom was experiencing the same "a-ha" moment.

"Gods, why didn't I see that before…_she's_ the 'candle'! Which means we have to protect her at all costs, Tom—she's the key to the rescue. She has to be!"

"I don't see how that…oh. Somehow she works with the Sun, Apollo…"

"And they're successful in whatever takes place, because there are 'words of thanksgiving.' "

Tom was starting to pace, anxiety and hope stirring in his blood. "Tory, that would mean there really is going to be a rescue—by Apollo—and we actually make it. We make it!"

They reached for each other in the same moment, drawn into a close hug, letting the emotions sink in.

"We have to tell the others what we've figured out, Tory, right away."

"But Tom, what if that changes the future, the outcome? We can't risk—"

"There's a reason the prophecy came to Roslin and Sharon—especially Sharon. We're supposed to understand at least parts of the riddle, to manifest the events."

Tory nodded in agreement. "Maybe it will help Tyrol, too…give him something to try to go on for."

"I doubt it, Tory, though we can always hope. He seems…too far gone."

"I don't accept that Tom, I don't. Maybe Sharon's a 'candle' in more than one way."

Tom took Tory's hand, sweeping aside the tarp to start down the stairs. "Maybe. Whatever happens next, we need to share this with the people below, make certain we increase our efforts in transmitting the communications signals. Our efforts are going to work, and the knowledge of that makes all the difference."

Just then, hearing a shuffling sound, the two turned to see Sam enter the tent above the Cellar. He was limping, covered in soot, charred fabric hanging from one leg. Tom sprang over to help the young man make his way down the steep steps.

Tory moved quickly to gather the bandages for Sam's latest injury, while Tom checked the communications panel before asking the group—Galen, Sharon, Maya, and Sam—to sit at the table. No one noticed as Hera slipped under it; she could tell something important was about to be revealed, and she was determined to understand what was going on.

Tom laid out the assumptions he and Tory had made. Maya gasped; Sharon seemed to nod her head slightly, as if she realized everything was correct. Hidden, Hera was also nodding; she didn't comprehend all of what was being said, but a wave of energy, flooding her from head to foot, told her all she needed to know. Galen was impassive, as Tom predicted, though his eyes seemed to shine a little more brightly, and Sam broke out into a big grin.

The air was electric with anticipation and that seldom-experienced feeling of optimism. The group quickly decided the information couldn't be shared with the rest of the settlers, so each one would renew focus on rescue preparations instead, leading by example. Small groups of discussion formed spontaneously, though Sharon remained distant from the others.

Internally, Sharon wondered what part she had to play, forcing down the anxiety as she contemplated what sacrifices might be required of her next. Sharon had never been comfortable with the idea of a prophecy, especially from gods she had never accepted as her own, though she could hardly ignore what had happened that night of the dream. She was more dismayed to realize she was probably the "candle" in the prophecy. Fear roared in the back of her head, worrying over how to protect Hera in the midst of so much madness.

Sam's voice cut through the noise of the smaller conversations, drawing everyone's attention. "I need to let you know what's going on out there, how the Colonials are faring." The tension in his voice telegraphed sobering news was to follow.

"What's the status of the Resistance, Sam?" Sharon asked quietly.

"The Cylons seem to have finally received their centurion reinforcements. They're amassing along our main lines, where the settlers have been hunkering down since the massacre. We've done our best to take out large groups at a time, even as our weapons have been dramatically depleted, but the Cylons are using different tactics. The attacks were aggressive, designed to destroy the settlement. We've lost so many…" Sam choked up. Sharon stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "Over a thousand people gave up their lives today—the largest total since…the massacre. That brings our fatalities to more than 3,800 in three weeks, and at this new pace…" Sam couldn't continue.

Tory had heard the plan details often enough to realize where they stood. She finished the ominous statement. "At this new pace, we'll be essentially wiped out in another two weeks, unless we split up and launch the grounded ships soon."

Sharon came to decision as she listened to Tory's words: it was better to believe in a prophecy than pin humanity's hopes on a last ditch swing into space.

"Those grounded ships will be launched—under the protection of the Pegagus and Galactica. I won't believe anything else, and neither should you. We're going to proceed with the plan Roslin and the Admiral originally laid out, because that's what's coming: a rescue. The battlestars will be here soon and we have to be ready to go."

A shrill beep coming from the communications room caused them all to jump. Sharon rushed into the seat in front of the comm panel, her fingers moving frantically. Everyone else moved behind her, staring at the screen expectantly.

"Could it really be…when we just said…" Sam's mouth was agape, his body tensed in astonishment and trepidation.

"It's them!" Sharon let out a loud whoop. "It's a scout raptor from Galactica!"

"Gods, this is actually happening!" Sam spun around to Tory, hands over the lower half of his face. He grabbed her and held her close, his voice a mixture of laughter and disbelief and tears in her ear. "Rescue, Tory…rescue. At last." Tory hugged him in return, suspended in the kind of shock that can't be easily tossed off. "Praise the gods, praise the gods, praise the gods…" she murmured.

Sharon's voice was precise, full military-mode, but Sam could see her hands shaking as she typed a response. "Okay. Here's what they sent in the first transmission. Both battlestars are fully operational and the Commander's put together a large scale ops. We have to give them coordinates for the recon vessel; it'll jump intra-atmosphere to minimize chances of detection."

"When can it be here? When can they initiate the ops? Frakkin' unbelievable--it's really them!" Sam was half-skipping around the table now, energy unbound.

Sharon was deep in concentration, continuing to type messages, her heart pounding. In the back of her mind, a thought kept repeating: _I found out just in time; the prophecy's coming to pass. _As she waited for the Colonial ship's response, something Hera had said a long time ago, before Sharon realized the girl was her daughter, jumped into conscious awareness. _"__Athena's here; she'll use powers, keep bad god away—save them both." _

Even before the dream, Hera somehow intuited Sharon's importance in the events to come. As she reflected on it now, Sharon understood perfectly that "save them both" had multiple meanings—Lee and Kara, the Admiral and Roslin, Hera and Karl. What's more, both the little girl's comment and the prophecy seemed to suggest it was Sharon's Cylon makeup that was valuable—the fact she was "one of the seven" and had "powers" based on her physiology. _So I'll know when to act, because I'll be asked to do something only a Cylon could…_

Tom's strong slap on her back jolted Sharon around to her view of the monitor.

"The Pegasus plans on sending the recon team in 36 hours, as soon as we tell them the location. I'm thinking the Straton Valley range—tricky for the jump in, but good cover. There's enough ore in the rocks to confuse Cylon sensors." Sharon waited for responses from the group.

"That's the best option. Go ahead with the coordinates," said Sam.

Sharon read out the reply. "It's confirmed. Ten-hundred hours, day after tomorrow."

Tom spoke up. "You realize, we can't send more than two of us to meet them…"

Sam offered, "I think it should be you and me, Sharon." Tory and Tom nodded. Sharon let out a long breath when the contact was broken off. She continued to scrutinize the screen after the images flickered out, her brain still struggling to catch up recent events.

"Let's see if we can find a bottle of ambrosia stashed somewhere in this dirt hovel. It's time to actually celebrate something!" Sam ran into the next room, screaming at the top of his lungs. Everyone began chattering over each other, their joy and nervous energy unrestrained. Sharon found herself searching for Hera, then scooping her up and kissing her cheeks with fervor. "You're going to see your Daddy soon, baby—we're going home. We're really going home."

Hera clasped her arms tightly around her mother's neck. A chill ran deep and sharp along Sharon's spine as she heard the little girl whisper "Get rest, Mommy. Have to be candle long time." She pulled back to look into her child's eyes, which were wide and alert, but calm—there seemed to be no fear in Hera at all. "Okay, little one—I'll be sure to rest."

Sharon winced in pain as she set the girl down; her wound was healing, but there was a long way to go before she could say she was "normal" again. It did make her tire more easily…_maybe I'd better look for that stash of stim pills_, she thought.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Fifteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation of New Caprica**

Lee was staring at a blank piece of paper, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say when he stood up in front of a huge crowd of people in the hangar deck. As elated as he was to find out contact had been made, the statements of the Priestess weighed heavy on him. No one else even realized the true stakes involved at this juncture in time; as momentous and daring as the rescue itself needed to be, Lee was supposed to transform into a person no one would even recognize or suspect had lain hidden inside the man known as Lee Adama. His whole body felt like it was churning, as though his blood were moving several different directions at once, and he was almost fevered as he stood up to pace the room.

Helo entered. "Sir, everyone's gathering in the bays. Dualla, Tigh, and Racetrack are on their way over. Communications has everything set up for the fleet-wide broadcast. How are the opening remarks coming?"

Lee snorted as he gestured to the empty page. "I should know what to say, but I'm tongue-tied."

Helo stepped closer to Lee, tilting to get a better sight of his eyes. "I know the moment's historic, but you've always had a flair with public speeches. What's really unnerving you?"

Lee set his jaw, squarely facing his friend. "I saw her again."

"Who? The Priestess?"

"Yeah." Helo said nothing immediately. It was Lee's story to tell. "And I heard her, Karl. I heard Kara's voice, right there, in the temple, calling on the god Apollo…"

"You were in the temple?" Helo knew nothing about Lee's recent visits, and given where his conversations had left off with the Commander, he was genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. It was a good place to think…or that's what I kept telling myself." Lee's face focused with an eerie intensity. "You were right, Karl, about going down to the planet."

"You're going?"

"Yes. I'll need a raptor held back from the Fleet Guard contingent, ready for me. And a viper escort for cover, when the time comes. Lee's expression was somber as he looked at his friend. "Helo, I know it's a terrible burden to place on you. It may be down to you to decide if and when to use the EMP weapon." Helo bowed his head slightly, to acknowledge he ready for that.

"I don't want to tell anyone else about this. They won't understand."

"No other words needed, Lee."

"One more thing."

"Let me guess…another riddle from the Priestess?"

"Not a riddle. More like a challenge. You'll be able to say 'I told you so' afterward, _if _I can cross the river."

"The only way to walk across water is to keep your eye on the prize, Apollo. Picture Kara in your mind, and the rest will take care of itself."

Lee was struck with the odd idea that if he really was part of a divine plan of the gods, Helo certainly seemed uniquely equipped to provide the best guidance. On impulse, Lee grabbed his friend and XO, giving him a strong hug; Helo, startled but recovering, returned the sign of affection.

"Time to get into Commander mode," Helo said lightly.

"And prophet mode?" Lee whispered under his breath. Helo studied Apollo quizzically, not sure if he'd heard correctly. He decided to let it alone—they'd all find out soon enough what Lee Adama had to say.

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The cavernous space on the Pegasus was humming with the sound of people. More than 500 personnel were given permission to leave their posts and attend this announcement. For security reasons, Lee kept most of the Galactica crew in place on ship, but he had asked Helo to made certain the broadcast was going to be fleet-wide on a scrambled channel.

Looking out at the individuals lined up before him, stretching as far as the eye could see, Lee was reminded of his solitary walk, so many years ago, counting the pilots he'd lost as he walked the hangar of the Eos. They'd all completed so many metamorphoses, and now he was about to alter their worldview again,_ including_ his own.

Lee heard his voice begin, the sound bouncing off the metal and the slight crackle of the broadcast equipment singing out underneath. He began an introduction, and then faltered.

_Damnit, no electrical current, no altered state…what the frak am I doing here_?

Apollo caught Helo's face, then Kat's, both worried and encouraging at once; the looks just made his blood pressure increase. Closing his eyes, he started breathing slowly, letting the sound of Kara's voice play in his mind. Key words started coming to him._ Faith. Hope. Commitment. The Prayer of Colonization. Redemption. Leader._ He was…an instrument, finely tuned and ready for manifestation of the gift. But it wasn't for him—it was for the people of the Lords of Kobol. To find Earth. The other land of the gods.

"This is an historical moment for us all. We, the people of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. But the 'we' isn't just for us, as humans; it's for the ones who gave us life, who created our worlds. And as we bring the others in our family back to safety, to our 'traveling home,' it is imperative we remember the Lords of Kobol. They manifested existence—and they could have ended it, let humanity die out without a sound. But we're here, our fleet and our family on New Caprica. We're here—_still_.

"So it is a blessing of blessings to know the people we treasure have persevered, defying the odds and the forces of darkness. It's through the protection of the gods they've survived, and it will be through the protection of the gods we'll complete our mission successfully now.

"Many of you know I haven't been a religious person. I've been an atheist, proud in my conviction that we make our own 'destiny.' I didn't waver, I didn't question—and I had no faith to speak of, no mysticism or belief in life with divine purpose.

"I stand before you today, though, as…as a pilgrim. Gods, even to say that word: 'pilgrim,' 'worshipper.' So foreign to my tongue. My father, Admiral Adama, would surely be staring in disbelief if he were to hear this now. And yet, I'd tell him he's been on a pilgrimage too, as we all have. _That's_ what the journey to Earth is about. We're trying to reach a new home, but we have _faith_ it's our home because the Lords of Kobol created it. _Told_ us about it. Laid out the first star map to _guide _us there.

"We lost our way in trying to settle New Caprica. Because we settled at all. We settled for less, we settled for a 'country' not truly our own. The Colonials were trying to make their own destiny without the gods' guidance.

"But I say to you here, with the conviction of a penitent, no Colonial will set foot on the shores of Earth unless—_until_—we commit to our faith. We have to re-energize our connection with the Lords of Kobol. That's where Laura Roslin got it right, where Kara Thrace got it right, where many of you got it right, when we first re-discovered the planet Kobol itself.

"Today marks the first day of our renewed spiritual commitment. I'm going to ask you to join me in a prayer, even those who don't think the gods are real, those who find the idea of a prayer alien and even repulsive. Because there is mysticism, and I'm willing to lay down all that I am—right now—my reputation, my credibility, my authority to lead—stake all of that on a bold claim. If we pray, together, to rejoin with our creators, to acknowledge our destiny is only made in communion with the Lords of Kobol, our prayers will be answered. And a prophecy will be revealed about the Eye of Jupiter, the next milestone on the path to Earth. That will be our course, once our family is whole again.

"One blessing has already been given to us today. Let us show the gods we are penitent pilgrims, ready to accept another sign and realign with our true course, our true purpose."

Lee stopped, taking in the crowd. Every face was riveted on his; many stood with open mouths, unable to fully accept the strange words just uttered. Overwhelming fear seemed to slam through Apollo's back; he reeled, the sensation of a thousand punches to his gut making him stagger back from the podium.

Karl Agathon stepped forward, placing a hand over Lee's as he stood confidently beside him. Lee turned his head, watching the others in the RSG, all of them, move to form a horizontal line. Encouraging Lee, Helo said the opening phrase: Lords of Kobol, hear our prayer."

After that, Lee remembered only the sensation of rising.

And falling.

And crashing sounds.

And consuming silence.

And then…nothing.

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Lying on the couch in his quarters, Lee struggled to sit up. He fought to remember what just took place; the last thing he could latch onto was the sound of Karl's voice beginning the prayer. "Karl…" Lee was dismayed to find he had no power in his voice at all.

Helo knelt down. "Hey. That was more than a little spooky. Let's not do that again too soon, okay?" Lee could see the apprehension in the man's face.

"I…what did I say, Karl?"

Rocking back on his heels, Helo shook his head in disbelief. "What did the Priestess tell you to say?"

Feeling as though he was moving through a large tank of water, Lee managed to finally pull himself upright. "She said I had to demonstrate total commitment…"

"I think you covered that ground, Apollo."

"So what took place? You seem so rattled!" Agitation rose from nowhere as Lee pushed himself to come back fully into his body.

"I am. We all are. No one can recall any details, and yet every single person—those present _and_ those listening in—can recite, verbatim, the same three sentences."

"And?"

"The first one describes star phenomena, some navigation focal point towards a planet. The second sentence tells about visible markings in a temple found there. The third one provides instructions for the six who enter the sacred site, how to harness the power of the Eye of Jupiter."

Somehow, Lee remained collected and calm while hearing this information. "Well, I'll admit that's pretty mind-blowing. What else happened?"

"It was what happened to you, Lee—I've never seen anything so…and only two of us actually witnessed it. Me and Tigh. The others don't have memories of a damned thing, other than the words to the sentences."

"Witnessed _what_, Helo?"

"You—your voice changed. First you made this screaming sound I'll never forget. Then you started talking, but it was as though the voice came from the middle of the room, not from you."

"That's it?"

"Apart from the rest of us being temporarily paralyzed while you were babbling…yeah."

"I can't frakkin' believe—" Lee stopped himself from saying what he always had in the past. "How are we going to calm everybody down, Helo? We have a daunting mission before us, and I've managed to frighten the wits out of the entire fleet!"

"You'd think. Except that…it's all quiet, Lee."

"Quiet?"

It's like everyone's been mesmerized. They're stunned, sure, but focused. Making contact with the settlers on New Caprica, beginning the mission, and having a plan for where to go next—it is honestly some type of miracle. For the first time since we left Kobol, there's optimism. The way you talked about commitment hit a chord in the hearts of many."

"And the mutterings about the Commander losing his mind?"

"Not there, Apollo." Just then, Helo lit up with a big smile.

"What's that for?"

"I was thinking how…how Kara would be proud of you. Flabbergasted, but proud. And more connected, in a new way, you know, by common values."

"Helo, I didn't ask before, but when the scout ship made contact…do we know who's…who's made it?"

Karl clenched his teeth, wishing someone had thought to get more information. "No. They know Sharon was the one at the comm, and I'm almost beside myself now with longing to talk to her. It's so close…"

"Soon, Helo. Gods know, if I could send you there, I would."

"I've asked the next scout raptor team to get the answers to a number of questions, so maybe the next time we talk, we'll know more. They jump within the hour."

"Good. Is Dee ready to lead the recon mission?"

"Yes. I asked Kat to pick out one of the best pilots from the original group of 50 to fly the transport raptor. Gods know the intra-atmosphere jump is tricky enough, normally, and they've chosen a mountainous range for the rendezvous point."

"What about the marines?"

"Packed and clear on the final mission details from our end. Once we have more information from Sharon regarding the conditions on-ground, we'll be able to make adjustments."

The recon team was expected to set up the ground forces, establish the escape routes, and assess the strength of the Cylon contingents before the battlestars moved into position in seven days' time.

"There's always the possibility we'll have to move faster than planned, Lee—Sharon didn't indicate how many, but the daily casualties have been 'catastrophic.' "

"Her words, or yours?"

"Hers."

"_Frak. _ It's hard to imagine the conditions down there…" Lee stopped, realizing he shouldn't focus on that with Karl's mind on his wife.

"I talked to the marines, seeing if there's more firepower we could send along with them to help the Resistance forces that have to be fighting…"

"Helo, we can't risk the Cylons being tipped off to our presence. If the settlers suddenly have greater weapon strength, it's a dead giveaway!"

"I _know_ that. But I was thinking we could send additional standard explosives…it might be a straightforward issue of depleted supplies that's contributing to the losses."

"You're right. I apologize. Guess I'm on edge too."

"Lee, the gods are helping us. We're meant to survive and move forward. I know there are intense challenges ahead, but we're prepared."

Lee walked up to his XO and put a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, we are. I have full confidence and complete trust in you, Karl. Never forget that."

"I'll let you know as soon as we learn anything new from the scout crew. We're bringing them all home, Lee."

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**Sit Rep: Galactica, Sixteen Weeks After Cylon Occupation of New Caprica; Fifteen Minutes Before Commencement of Operation Sky Fall**

Tigh was standing next to the main console in the CIC, his gut as taut as a drum. It was damned unnatural, standing here, launching one of the most complex missions he could remember reading about, let alone being in, and William Adama was not the one getting ready to address his troops. It had been so long since Tigh had seen Bill's strong stance, arms crossed behind his back, hands overlapped and still, voice rumbling orders projecting statements of confidence as subtext. He held his gaze firmly on the dradis, watching two-thirds of the fleet jumping out to the pre-established reunification coordinates.

A Fleet Guard contingent would provide some defense; the RSG fervently hoped these ships would remain undetected by the Cylons. Away from the fighting, the captains would have no way of communicating with the battlestars, but it was the only way to protect as many civilians as possible.

For the third of the ships remaining, their purpose would be to take refugees onboard. Later, when the whole fleet was together, the refugee populations would be redistributed, according to capacities and supplies.

Even now, Tigh had to remind himself to stand in the Admiral's spot, though he'd grown more comfortable in the leadership role over the past four months. Especially with Dualla absent, the deck felt off, as though everything was in the wrong order. In another minute, a different Adama would be the one to speak to the fleet. Tigh hoped the surreal atmosphere sensation would dissipate soon, because he needed to be on the top of his game, and he needed a lot of stamina for the hours and days ahead.

The more they'd learned about the current situation on New Caprica, the more it seemed they knew very little. There'd been no time to convey, through text transmissions, the history of events covering the last four months, but the most fundamental questions—and the fact there were no answers available—implied the results had been consistently tragic. The fates of Bill, Roslin, Starbuck, Ellen had all been summed up the same way: "Captured; status unknown."

Tigh waited for Lee's comments to begin, waited for everything to start moving at a blurring speed.

"_This is Commander Adama. Normally, this is where you'd hear a rousing speech about how this mission can only end in success and glory. But…I have no words equal to the mission we are about to undertake. I can only say this: we have trained and prepared and now stand ready to make history. No mission like this has ever been attempted before, nor—gods willing—will ever be necessary again._

_We pit ourselves against our enemies because our greatest strength is our ability to persevere. We know, by faith and grit and soul-searing commitment, we will bring our family together. The gods have shown us we have a future—Earth—and this is the gateway. Today, we reset the clocks, reset the odds. And we begin with the oldest ritual in our Colonial past."_

Tigh moved into position as everyone in the CIC lined up and watched Tigh use the white salt to make the line in the floor. On the battlestar launch decks, in gathering rooms on all the ships in the fleet, the same actions were taken.

Lee began the ceremony words, with thousands of voices joining aloud across every vessel:

_" 'Their enemies will divide them. Their colonies broken in the fiery chasm of space. Their shining days renounced by a multitude of dark sacrifices. Yet still they will remain always together.' "_

There was exactly one minute of murmured promises and wishes of good fortune, then everyone returned to their posts.

The Commander's orders immediately followed: _ "Military Fleet: start the clock. Prepare to jump."_

Tigh glanced over to the nav station, giving the Specialist a tiny nod and receiving a thumbs-up in reply. He knew there was no need to confirm their readiness with Pegasus, and Lee's order was the most natural thing to hear next.

"_Jump."_

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Reviews appreciated!


	14. Ch 12A: Patterns in the Chaos Part A

Chapter 12: Patterns in the Chaos

**A/N: ** So, we're finally here. Lee's rescue of Kara was the first major section I wrote for this story, way back in January, and I admit I'm excited, as an author, to share it with you at last. I see this chapter as the end of the first section of the story, which culminates in the rescue.

The second section will focus on how the Colonials, specifically our protagonists, cope with the aftermath of New Caprica and uncover the destined path to Earth, all the while fighting the Cylons.

The third section deals with what happens after they ostensibly reach their goal, and discover the journey is not really over, because the "promised land" is never what we fantasize the promise to be. It will _**not**_ be a post-apocalyptic Earth, so that's not the source of the disillusionment. It will be about the human passion—obsession—with technology, and whether that's a fatal flaw programmed in our DNA.

But first, our intrepid heroes are going to all be brought together once more. **This chapter is divided into four parts, to fit word-limit constraints. ** _**Please be sure to read in order: A, B, C, and D.**_

My warm thanks go out to my amazing beta, Uberscribbler (any typos in this final are my own); pygmymuse, ahsnape, pali167, prudence dear,stardust20, musicaljay, and all of the other terrific readers who post reviews and continue following this story.

**Event Horizon ****Chapter 12: Patterns in the Chaos—Part A**

"_Prisons will crumble and governments will fall. It's the order of freedom to be preceded by walls. 'Cause the truth would be worthless if no one ever lied; so we carry our shame in the interest of pride. And we have all these questions to make us go roam, and we've got all this distance to make us come home. As the sun burns, a child learns, the tide churns, the world turns…" Merry-Go-Round lyrics, Antje Duvekot_

"_Jonas and Ezekiel, hear me now; steady now, ghosts abound; I'm not ready for the dead to show its face—whose angel are you anyway? I said there's prophets in the graveyard." Jonas and Ezekiel lyrics, Indigo Girls_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Sixteen Weeks After the Occupation of New Caprica: Day One, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus forty-eight hours to planned mission end.**_

Helo and Lee stood around the main tactical table in the CIC, their bodies twitching with tension. The rescue fleet had jumped to a location beyond the detection of long-range basestar sensors, and all were awaiting an update from the two advance raptors. The raptors, equipped with special signal boosters, would serve as communications relay stations between ground operations and the battlestars until direct transmissions were possible. Success would depend on a significant number of actions being executed simultaneously, while racing against the Cylons' capacity to overtake fleet and gain the upper hand.

Tigh and Dualla were listening over the comm for Lee's next orders. The advance raptor reports started coming in; Helo read them aloud, so everyone in the Pegasus CIC and the Galactica CIC would hear the information in real time.

"Number of basestars around planet: three. Weather at surface level is clear, with strong wind gusts and temperature below freezing. Current snow depth estimated at 24 inches with firm ice over most of surface. Visibility is high. End of first transmission."

"At least the weather is cooperating," Lee said in a tone of relief. The odds were stacked enough without adding winter storms to the list of obstacles.

"Second transmission," Helo began. "Teams in position. Detention Center Incursion Group ready for immediate engagement. All launch keys inserted in grounded ships. Coordinates for Cylon major gunnery positions transmitted through dedicated data line now. Centurion forces estimated at 15,000. Bio-Cylon forces unknown; estimate 3,000 in headquarters compound, 2,000 in surrounding areas. Raiders on ground: 103. Cylon transports on ground: 14."

Lee tapped his fingers on the console surface as he quickly reviewed the information in his head. They were vastly outnumbered on the ground, no surprise there; but the limited count of raiders and transports meant they could dispense with the air barrage threats pretty quickly—_assuming_ the basestars were destroyed in first few minutes of engagement.

One of the riskiest elements in the strategy was taking place first. Sharon, Sam, Marines from the insertion team, and Resistance fighters would penetrate the Detention Center. The goal: find the primary Cylon control panel and have Sharon override any other computer nerve centers located on the planet. She would also jam the Cylon basestar signals, preventing them from calling in reinforcements while opening up wireless channels for the Colonial forces.

The battlestars would drop in close to the planet-orbiting basestars as the jamming began, attempting to take them out before one of the ships could jump away. The fighting could be contained_ if_ they were able to stop the Cylons from alerting extended forces.

"Third transmission," Helo stated as he moved to stand closer to his Commander. "Detention Center mission initiated."

Lee's voice was composed as he initiated orders. "Pegasus and Galactica, begin spooling FTLs and notify the rest of present fleet." He studied the models before him, representing the positions of the vessels in space, then swiveled to look at the glass board display behind Helo, detailing the approximate positions of the grounded ships. The earlier data transmissions from the recon team had provided topographical information, which was overlaid on the board with the current gunnery and raider location points. On the other side of the console, the second glass board offered a map of the main settlement area, with buildings labeled and planned escape routes identified for the settlers.

Realizing tension would escalate beyond functioning levels if he didn't keep the CIC personnel engaged, Lee ordered Tigh and Helo to begin countdown checks with the viper and raptor squadrons, then verify jump coordinates with the other fleet captains. The minutes would creep by no matter what he did, but Lee had to prevent his people from burning too much adrenaline too soon, or they'd never last through the probable two-day battle ahead.

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**Sit Rep: Cylon Basestar, The Lorien, Sixteen Weeks After New Caprica Occupation**

Boomer was hanging back in the shadows of the yawning launch deck. Caprica had delivered a message only an hour earlier, indicating she'd found a way to commandeer a heavy raider without detection. Boomer was also told where to meet and what to bring.

In spite of the challenges and uncertainties ahead, Boomer was relieved they were likely going to escape the Cabinet's immediate grasp. On the surface of the planet, away from the constant "awareness" of the wet-wired basestar's corridors, She and Caprica could move among the others of their models without drawing attention, since Cylons were not programmed to identify each other as unique "variations" of Sixes or Eights.

It wasn't clear how they would cover basic needs like shelter and food. Attempting to stay at the Cylon Headquarters residence complex was too risky. However, the benefit of blending in on New Caprica was the ability to gain control: the two could come up with a strategy, find ways to exist in an environment where they had access to resources. Banishment to the far continent would have given them no options and limited chances for long-term survival.

A light tap on the shoulder alerted Boomer to Caprica's arrival. "We're over along the third row," Caprica whispered as she began walking forward. The two Cylon women said nothing as they moved, light-footed, to the raider. In another few moments, strapped in and initiating all systems, Caprica switched on the comm and handed Boomer a headset. "We have to monitor all the traffic, be certain we haven't drawn any attention."

Boomer scanned a monitor as she positioned the earpiece, looking for any frequencies that appeared to be increasing in activity. "So far, so good."

Caprica was about to fire up the engines when Boomer hit her right arm to get her attention. "Wait…there's a lot of commotion…I can't make out what's happening. It's—it's New Caprica. The Resistance has stormed the Detention Center! They're planning to send…ten…ten heavy raiders are being dispatched to the surface."

Eyes widening with a realization, Caprica turned to Boomer. "We need to wait, then, wait until the other raiders are launching, so we'll blend in with the rest."

"But they'll detect an 'eleventh' ship—"

"I already took care of that; I rigged this raider to stay off the grids. It's unlikely anyone will be counting visually…the turmoil is going to make things easier all the way around. For now, let's slide to the floor. We should be able to move in another two or three minutes."

Listening carefully for a short time, Boomer could tell other Cylons were entering and starting preps in the vessels around them. They quickly re-seated themselves, launching with the first few raiders. Once clear of the basestar, Caprica asked Boomer to find out what was happening on the planet surface.

Focusing intently on the chatter through the headset, the Cylon finally looked over to Caprica to share the latest update. "I can't believe it, but…the Resistance is gaining ground. They've penetrated the interior. So far, though, the prisoner cells have been left untouched…it doesn't make sense."

"It might, if they have a Cylon with them—"

"—Sharon. But why risk her, and why now? They've had ample time to try a second incursion…" Boomer shook her head in confusion.

Caprica suddenly jerked back slightly, her back hitting the cushion behind as she murmured to herself. "Could it be possible? They'd have to be communicating somehow, getting past the Cylon jamming; but we haven't seen any large ships—"

Boomer's voice increased in volume. "Battlestars have jumped in—Pegasus and Galactica!"

Caprica activated the FTL. "Strap in now!"

"We can't jump in that low to the surface, you know that! Our drives are more powerful than the Colonials' FTLs; we can't control the landing after we emerge. Caprica, stop!"

"No. This is the only way. You have to trust me, Boomer." The buckles snapped in place just as the ship lurched. The raider hadn't jumped yet.

"What _was_ that?" They could both feel the impact of something, then several objects struck the hull. Boomer struggled to hear the comm traffic through the headset. "Basestar exploded--Caprica, we're too close…the thermal shockwave will rip us apart!" Another lurch; thankfully, this time they were in the jump.

Upon atmospheric entry, everything was a jumble of sounds and images. Caprica fought hard to get control of the ship, while Boomer frantically punched in commands to evaluate topography and help determine a landing spot. "Okay, okay…we've got to land within the next few thousand meters, or we'll careen into a mountain range…lock in on these coordinates."

Caprica's muscles strained as she grappled with the G-forces and wind shear. Grimacing, she hit several switches and tried to get a visual for a landing. Everything was white, making the horizon elusive. With a stuttering smash into the snow and ice, the raider skidded along the surface, finally hitting a jutting hill that sent the vessel into a spin. Interminable moments passed before the raider finally lodged hard in a cluster of protruding rock.

Physical equilibrium gone, Boomer groped to find the buckle releases. Liberated from the seat, she leaned forward to put her head on the dash, hands gripping the edges for stabilization. She could hear Caprica moaning. "Can you get free?" Boomer said breathlessly.

"No…arm's broken, I think—" The Cylon slammed her head against the back of the chair, the pain making her want to scream as each wave washed through.

Boomer looked at the floor and found she could now clearly focus on her boots as a still image; that was a good sign. Lifting into a sitting position again, she was lightheaded but stable enough to turn and help Caprica. As she reached over Caprica to disengage the buckles, she gasped at the bone protruding from the woman's left forearm.

"That bad?"

"I'll have to set it. We've got the meds and the splint in the kit. Don't move; I'll help shift you to a different position once I have the things we need." Caprica nodded weakly in response.

The kit open, Boomer grabbed the other Cylon around the ribs and dragged her backwards until she could lie flat in a space where there was room to move around. Fast-pushing local anesthetics, Boomer smoothly reset the bone and sprayed the bonding agent directly onto the ragged seam where the bone grafting would have to take hold. Using a topical antiseptic to speed up the Cylon healing process, butterfly bandages were applied next, before the rapidly hardening splint completed the repair.

"I can give you additional local numbing injections through your shoulder and wrist; that way you'll be able to keep your wits about you, at least until we're able to catch some sleep."

"Now is definitely not the time to be disoriented by pain meds," Caprica agreed. She went to sit, but Boomer gently pushed her back towards the floor.

"Look, I know we can't stay here long, but there's still power, so there's heat in the ship. Give yourself a chance to recover from the immediate shock." With a flat voice, she continued, "I already tried the comm. There's just…static."

Neither could be sure what that meant; were the basestars gone or destroyed? Had the Resistance, through Sharon, found a way to jam Cylon transmissions? Was the transmitter on their raider simply out of commission?

Caprica turned her head to face Boomer, her tone low and even. "I wanted to wait until we were on New Caprica to talk about our next plans, and now's as good a time as we may get."

The other woman signaled the go-ahead.

"We both came here because we know we can't remain with our Brothers and Sisters. We ended up in this conflict with our own race because we experienced deep feelings for certain humans. I think…we need to cast our lot with them, Boomer, with the Colonials."

"Cast our lot—what does that mean?" Boomer's face was a mixture of fear and something akin to excitement.

"The battlestars are here to conduct a rescue. We could…_should_ help them accomplish that goal."

Boomer appeared aghast at the suggestion. "The humans won't trust us. They can't even distinguish us as individuals!"

"We can overcome that, bringing them supplies they'll desperately need: medical items, weapons, food. That should demonstrate our intentions, right?" Caprica's voice became more urgent. "We don't have any choice, Boomer—we can't survive on this planet if it's abandoned, and we can't go back. We must give the humans an incentive to bring us along."

Boomer stood up, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her forehead. She would swear she was going to explode from the anxious energy building inside. "I don't know, Sister. They'll suspect the worst and throw us in detention, _if_ they don't simply shoot us on the spot."

"We can help them with Cylon defenses, offer our scientific knowledge. I don't believe they'll kill us. We can appeal to Sharon—"

"Sharon has absolutely no reason to assist us, Caprica." Boomer's voice was fraught with emotion; it was always difficult to consider the other Eight who had also become individual. Similar and yet so foreign.

"She's proof the humans _can_ come to trust certain of us, accept us." Caprica had to believe it was possible. The bleakness of the future without that wasn't worth considering.

Boomer let out a deep sigh. "We're going to have to try something bold, and your plan is logical, if extreme. All the main on-board computers seem to be working on this raider, for now; should we see if we can pinpoint likely targets for the supplies we'll need?"

Caprica held out her good arm for Boomer to support her weight as she stood up. "I've got a portable computer protected inside the stowage area; grab it and let's get started. Get the bags and outerwear gear too; we aren't going to have an easy time trekking out there."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Sixteen Weeks After Occupation, Day One, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus forty-eight hours to planned mission end.**_

Baltar was in Roslin's cell at the Detention Center. He'd made up a pretense for D'Anna about the reasons for a second visit; information was power with Cylons or humans, and he needed to be sure about his diagnosis. He had a portable imaging device with him that was fortunately powerful enough to work through clothing. It would take some finesse to scan the right areas, but he thought he could navigate the explanations successfully. He also wanted to check Roslin's vitals; there was no way to be certain how far or how quickly things were progressing.

The Admiral stared menacingly at the scientist as he conducted his examinations, making Baltar's skin crawl. He coped by remaining silent, or he'd stammer, and D'Anna couldn't know Gaius was so easily intimidated by this man. The Cylon woman was standing near the door, as usual, intrigued by how Baltar carried out his work.

Twenty-five minutes later, the tests complete, Baltar signaled for the centurion to open the cell door. Adama's booming voice stopped him in mid-stride; Baltar didn't turn around, instead remaining still. "Some day, Baltar, there'll be a reckoning for all you've done to destroy your race, for the ways you've betrayed your own people."

Gaius' breath collapsed under the weight of the accusation, his hopes to rejoin the rest of the humans suffocating once again. The strong streak of pettiness in his nature pushed certain words to the tip of his tongue, chosen to maim and to damage. He fought them off, however, mentally coaching himself:_ Be certain, Gaius; don't tip your hand to them or to D'Anna. Just walk out the door._

Thankfully, D'Anna spoke, breaking the spell of the moment. "Admiral, you're not in a position to threaten. If anyone has betrayed his people, it must be you. How else to explain why you're here on New Caprica, too easily captured, powerless and imprisoned? Step back and be quiet." She slid an arm under Baltar's elbow, guiding him out the cell door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They'd walked to the far end of the corridor after leaving the cell, saying nothing. Without warning, a shocking explosion ripped through the hallway in front of them. Baltar could feel the sharp yanking of D'Anna's hand as she pulled them back the way they'd come. Screams were heard, as dust flooded the air, making sight impossible; building debris began falling in chunks around their feet. One rough block of cement ricocheted against Baltar's head. He stumbled, falling to his knees, blinding sparks of light overwhelming his field of vision as he crawled towards what he hoped was a wall.

D'Anna's voice could be heard, though it sounded distant and muffled; she was next to him, pulling his body upward and supporting his weight as he shuffled forward. The still-healing foot began throbbing in earnest, and Gaius was grateful for her body holding him, stabilizing him. He could feel the steady spread of hot, sticky fluid along his right cheek and jaw, letting him know the blow from the object had been forceful enough to cause bleeding.

"Hold on, Gaius. I know a way to get out of here quickly." Baltar wasn't sure how they made it outside, but he could see, through matted, wet hair that the bio-Cylons and centurions were moving in several directions, orders being yelled as some tried to reign in the chaos. Explosions continued, the ground shaking with each new round. Against the white of the surface and the soft grays of the sky, orange tongues of flame vaulted upward, smoke moving rapidly away in whorls along the wind currents.

To his surprise, D'Anna led them into a storage building nearby. She pulled out a vehicle shaped like the hybrid of a boat and a motorbike; it was clearly designed to move at high speeds across the snow. Engine throttled, Gaius shifted into the seat behind the Cylon, and they raced away from the carnage.

A short ride later, they arrived at a side entrance to the living section of the Headquarters compound. "Let's get to our quarters; I've got enough there to treat your wounds for the time being."

Even in his slightly disoriented state, Baltar was nonplussed to hear D'Anna's use of the word "our." Something about it sent a warm tingle up his spine, though he wasn't sure that was a positive development.

Ensconced in familiar surroundings once more, Baltar sank to the floor as soon as he was inside the door, leaning into the wall to remain somewhat erect. As D'Anna began fixing his injuries, including the re-opened gash on his foot, he had to laugh.

"What exactly is so amusing?" The Cylon asked in irritation.

"We've been here before…it seems you've had to play the medic role with me quite a few times since I got here," he said, gesturing at the space around them. "I can't imagine it's what you had in mind when you decided to study me." His face grew more serious; she'd given him something for pain, and the loss of blood from the head wound was affecting his perceptions. "I…I don't know what I'd have done without you."

D'Anna looked up at that, catching his eyes. The gaze was intense. He seemed to be deciding something, and what she'd come to recognize as emotion took over his features. She wasn't sure which emotion, but whatever it was, she was being drawn in. His hand reached out to stroke D'Anna's cheek, his stare transfiguring into a look of desire. She felt something pulse in her core, a sensation between her legs that surged instantly and was blazing. Gaius slid his hand deep into her hair; the slight pull sent a shudder along her spine. He was bringing her face closer, and she realized he was going to kiss her.

D'Anna hadn't dallied with any humans before; sexual interaction was a distant curiosity, a pursuit that didn't seem to lead to good ends for the other Cylons who'd engaged in it. Now, she was overwhelmed with the impulses running through her body, the strange sensations of want and excitement…and affection. She was _involved _with this human.

His lips were soft and warm; he brushed them against her own, then ghosted along her cheek and her neck. She found herself leaning into him, a soft sound escaping as he caressed her face with both hands. Gaius kissed her again, this time with more pressure. As he pulled away to examine her expression, she discovered she'd closed her eyes…_how unusual._

"Have you—have you been kissed before?" Baltar asked in a hushed tone. He needed to know how new this experience was for D'Anna; someone's first deep kiss usually felt a little peculiar, and he'd have to take care not to unnerve her.

"No." She wasn't embarrassed to acknowledge that; it hadn't been a priority. Looking directly at Gaius, she mimicked his previous motions, holding his cheeks as she deliberately pressed her mouth over his. In another moment, his lips parted, and she was captured in an embrace that was pleasurable and unexpected. Time was held at bay as they moved closer together, emotionally as much as physically. A little light-headed when they finally separated, D'Anna noticed she was sitting in Gaius' lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, head resting against his chest. _Very unusual. Addictive. I want to…_

With a start, she remembered the larger scope of recent events. The Cylon Cabinet would be expecting her to contact them, provide a briefing, and plan the containment strategy. Or elimination strategy—circumstances with the humans had certainly reached that point. _I have to leave. Now._

Moving swiftly to stand, D'Anna helped a bewildered Baltar to his feet as well. "I'm so…I don't want to go, but…but they'll be waiting for me. The attack on the Detention Center—"

Gaius closed his eyes briefly. "Of course, of course. I shouldn't have expressed my—"

D'Anna's voice was intense and inviting as she moved very close to him, her lips hovering near his mouth. "Yes you should have, Gaius. It's unfortunate, these pressing obligations, when all I want to do is…_taste_ you." She savored him, tongues touching heatedly; his responding moan shot straight down her spine.

Brusquely, D'Anna turned away from Gaius, unable to find a more _human_ way to transition into leadership mode. As she stepped towards the door, she made a statement that sounded close to an order, though Baltar knew he shouldn't read more into the tone.

"Gather up all of your research from the lab. Back up the files on your portable and on this." She handed him a small, oddly shaped storage device. There's a portal on the side where this snaps in; use the touch screen menu on the far right of the screen to download. That will hold a significant amount—be sure to grab the databases supporting the primary analysis. And include _everything_ on Laura Roslin."

Gaius said nothing as he tightly grasped the object. In a split second, she was out the door, and he was standing alone, trying to assimilate the memories of the past two hours. If his life moved any faster, he might lose his grasp on all else.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room was black with dense smoke; Sam was almost choking on the noxious vapors. He could barely make out Sharon moving in front of him; she was forced to use her hands to feel around the space, searching for the prize. He stumbled over the bottom half of a centurion, blown apart by some well-placed shots from one of the Colonial Marines.

"Sharon—did you find it?" Sam had lost any visual.

"Yes. Sergeant Kitridge—is the area secured?"

The Marine leader's voice seemed to come from the far wall in the room. "It is, Sir. I've lost contact with the other unit, however, and we've got to have those soldiers to hold the perimeter until the reinforcements arrive."

"Understood. Anders—"

"I'm on it. Sergeant—barricade the door. I'll use frequency Alpha-two for updates."

"How many of our forces are here, Kitridge?" Sharon couldn't see a damned thing, and she wondered how precarious their current position was.

"Five, Sir. Another three outside the door. Galactica should have the Cylons' attention focused elsewhere soon enough."

"As soon as we take care of our end, Sergeant." Sharon rested her left hand on the edge of the narrow table, her right hand moving into the viscous fluid of the central channel contained within. She gritted her teeth as thousands of bits of information flooded her consciousness; it had been too long since she'd connected with a fully functioning Cylon processor system.

Getting her bearings, Sharon moved through the important tasks: basestar signal interruption—planet-side computer operation controls redirected to current location—alternate data stream loop to deep space basestar clusters maintaining illusion of normal operations around planet—

re-establishment of open wireless transmissions for Colonial vessels and comms—release of auto-control locks within detention center and other facilities throughout the city—termination of electrical power to most locations—Detention Center power preserved.

All of the work was completed in a matter of seconds. It was time to contact the battlestars.

The other Marines in the room let out a cheer as Commander Lee Adama's voice penetrated the space. _"Great work. Phase II of Operation Sky Fall commences in 60 seconds."_ The connection was necessarily brief.

First steps out of the way, Sharon located the facility environmental systems. Reverse air flow pulled the stinging smoke up through the vents. A moment later, fresh air was pumping into the area. Able to see the walls and floor, Sharon realized there were 4 dead bio-Cylon models and another four centurions strewn about.

"Kitridge, get those bodies moved outside the door, and tell your soldiers to be ready. The Cylons on the planet have by now likely figured out the Colonial forces are attacking, and they'll realize I've got a chokehold on their computer operations. They'll send a first wave here."

"Clock, Sir?" The Marine leader asked as he started dragging bodies out.

Athena paused beore answering, querying the data flow. "Less than five minutes, Kitridge."

Two of the screen monitors mounted from the ceiling were intact. Sharon managed to get streaming satellite images to appear through one, and set up a sequencer on the other, flashing shots of the Detention Center's corridors and rooms. She gasped when the Admiral and Roslin were seen in one cell; her concern and horror deepened as she watched other images of prisoners appear, people she recognized, people she cared about.

"We've got to start capturing all of this information immediately. Sergeant, you have the preliminary map of this place; start figuring out the differences and get bearings on where these people are located. Some will escape in the first sweep, but others…they won't easily find the way out."

A guttural cry from one of the Marines drew Sharon's attention to the first monitor. One basestar had already been destroyed; the other two were assaulting the Colonial battlestars with significant firepower. It seemed clear Apollo was running out of time to take them out before one would jump away. Despite the connectivity of Cylon technological components, the basestars were deliberately programmed, if under attack, to override any external system commands. Sharon had no way to help the Commander further.

Sam's voice over the comm cut through the tension of the immediate spectacle as he updated Kitridge on the location of the second unit.

"_A centurion patrol held the team up; we lost six, but the other ten are on their way to you now. I'm positioning them along the hall access junctures—" _ shots were suddenly heard. _"Anders out."_

Sharon looked up at the monitors, anticipating the immediate threats. She could see the centurions were hauling some of the prisoners out, then shooting them dead on the spot; there were only glimpses of these atrocities, as the sequencer continued flipping through all of the camera positions across the span of the Detention Center.. On the other screen, the Pegasus was moving in closer to the Cylon warships, its modified bombing vipers sweeping in arcs away from the battlestar. The Galactica began an approach towards New Caprica.

A boom of overwhelming proportions abruptly skewed the screen images and sent equipment within the room flying. _Galactica has dropped into the atmosphere. Now the battle truly begins, _Sharon thought. There was no way to see what was happening beyond the Detention Center, but the walls continued to shake forcibly; on the monitor, the Pegasus was streaming fire from a rear hull section, even as it launched a nuclear strike into the heart of one of the massive Cylon ships. The resulting explosion sent the Pegasus reeling. _They've lost thruster control…gods, Apollo, what the frak are you doing? You'll drift right into the other basestar! _A second, violent detonation from two different sections of the remaining basestar caused all of those watching in the room to physically jump in time with the startling flashes, even though there was no sound accompanying the images.

It took several moments to make out what was happening next. The Pegasus could at last be identified in the far right of the screen, clearly buffeted by the shockwaves from the other explosion. The humans observing the events held their collective breath, waiting, hoping. Sharon bowed her head in relief when the rear thrusters could be seen kicking in. The fire was extinguished too, though she could trace the location of the damaged hull and determine at least 100 people likely died in that section of the ship.

Apollo's voice sputtered to life through the comm. _"Agathon. Sitrep."_

"Detention Center Command holding, Sir. No reports yet from Galactica, but we felt her presence—Sky Fall maneuver was initiated. Centurions are killing prisoners where they stand; we need ground reinforcements immediately. The Cylon comm chatter indicates centurion troops are amassing along all main egress routes. Wait…vipers did launch from Galactica, Sir—reports now of strafing, taking out main ground battle armaments."

"_I need to know all prisoner locations, Lieutenant. They might move—"_

"The Admiral and Roslin are in the Detention Center now, Sir. We're dispatching Anders to secure their rescue."

"_And Captain Thrace?"_

Sharon swallowed hard. "Unable to locate yet, Sir. She doesn't appear to be on these manifests; that means she's likely being held in the Cylon Headquarters compound."

Apollo's fist could be heard hitting the surface of the tactical console. _"Finding Captain Thrace is mission critical, Lieutenant. I want her location, and I want a tactical plan for ingress and egress—one person to complete the extraction without Cylons bearing down and blocking escape."_

"Understood. Sir…status of the Pegasus?" Sharon knew it was out of line to pose the question in the middle of intense operations, but she had to know.

"_We sustained damage, and estimate seven percent crew losses. Captain Agathon is unharmed."_

Sharon tried to cover her astonishment, reflecting internally, _Captain? I didn't even know Karl had been promoted…there's so much to learn, so much time to make up for._

"Thank you, Sir."

"_Another Sitrep expected in 30 minutes, Lieutenant. Apollo out." _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, Day One, Operation Sky Fall.**_** T-minus forty-six hours to planned mission end.**_

Lee was thankful it hadn't been necessary to lie to Sharon. The Pegasus CIC was in disarray, with fallen wiring and recently extinguished equipment fires, but all things considered, the bridge was relatively intact. He regretted the number of deaths already incurred, but knew many more courageous men and women would perish in the next forty-six hours.

Each of Lee's senior officers had an assigned focus. At the moment, Helo was preoccupied with strategic management of the war theatre. Dualla, planet-side, kept them apprised of the enemy's movements on ground, while Helo moved the battle models around the tactical table and assessed offensive maneuvers. Aboard Galactica, Tigh was currently managing the logistics for the initial New Caprica ship launches; when Dualla returned to the ship with the first wave of refugees, she'd take over those duties and Saul would focus on defeating the Cylon raider forces still in the area.

So far, the civilian ships had escaped major structural damage. Tigh was busy on the comms with Kat and Racetrack, overseeing planetary air sorties while sustaining adequate defense lines around the fleet perimeters in space. It was about to get dicey, once the previously grounded New Caprican vessels headed towards the battlestars and openings in the lines had be established.

As he kept one ear trained on Helo and Dualla's wireless exchanges, Saul tightened his jaw; the casualties were mounting too rapidly. They Cylon bastards were fast on their feet and appeared to be shifting quickly into a scorched ground strategy. If the Colonials couldn't overtake the centurion divisions soon, they'd likely lose transport ships, supplies, and hopes for wide-scale rescue lifts. Commander Adama had one hour, maybe two, before recovery plans would have to be severely curtailed.

One of the officers on deck passed Tigh a note. Dualla was boarding a raptor in the next 20 minutes, and Tyrol would be on the horn going forward, reporting on planet operations.

"Chief—good to hear you on the line." Tigh smiled as he said the words; it really was heartwarming to talk to these people. At long last. It reminded him—reminded all of them—why the complex, harrowing strategy had been necessary.

"_You too, Sir."_

"What's it look like down there—have we had any luck with firming up the cover for escape routes?" Tigh could hear rapid gun fire in the background.

"Zarek's made headway within the main tent residence areas; Sam's bringing out the Detention Center prisoners now. Settlers are everywhere, but it's hard to make out exactly what's taking place where. Vipers did a great job taking out the ground-to-air weapons, and they've had an impact on the centurion troops…we think maybe 5,000 have been destroyed." Galen was yelling to be heard over the cacophony, as the Doppler sound of ship engines mixed with shouting and explosions.

"Well, we're three hours in…pretty impressive dent you've made, I'd say."

"_Thank you, Sir. Hold on…I can see Sam…and he's got the Admiral and Roslin with him! Frak me, they've made it!" _ The enthusiasm and disbelief were palpable; Tigh could hear Apollo's voice interject over the wireless.

"Chief Tyrol, confirm last. You have the Admiral and Roslin?"

"_You bet your frakkin' ass, Apollo. Give me a minute, I'll put him on—"_

Lee waited anxiously, fingers thrumming at a frantic speed. He couldn't disengage from the chaos for long, but he had to hear his father's voice.

"_Son—gods, Lee, is that you?"_ The Old Man sounded elated, but the weighted tenor in the back of his throat revealed the depth of his exhaustion.

"Yeah, Dad—praise the gods, you're alive! I've been hoping for…just…hoping. I'd like to lay eyes on you…" Emotion flared from his gut, and Lee immediately tamped it down. Now was not the time to reflect on anything or let any connections affect his control. He purposely shifted his tone. "Dad—Admiral—you'll be transported to Pegasus for the time being. Roslin too. The Life Station is better equipped here. Captain Dualla will escort—"

"_Not yet, Apollo. We're needed here, to share key tactical information, ensure our people make it off the planet first."_

"Sir, you are a prime military target. I'm in command at this moment, and insist you—"

"_Lee, we've got intel that's too important. And we have to find Starbuck; Laura saw her, learned enough to know her situation's grave." _Apollo's emotions surged a second time. He gripped the table edges to keep from leaping for the door and running to the Pegasus launch bay.

"Is Tyrol still there?" Lee asked forcefully.

Galen's voice piped in. _"Present, Sir."_

"Have four Marines with the Admiral and Roslin at all times. Anders needs to patch the Admiral through to Sharon as soon as possible. He has four hours to obtain all relevant intel from my father and Roslin, then they are to be put aboard a raptor and hauled off that damned planet. Unconscious, if necessary. Is that understood?"

"_Sir, yes Sir."_

"Dad?" Lee said plaintively, wishing he didn't sound so vulnerable just uttering the word.

"_Here, Lee. We'll leave in four hours. Good hunting…I'll see you soon, Son."_

"Confirmed. Apollo out." He reeled back slightly from the built-up pressure in his body; it was all he could do not to tell his father how much he loved him, how overjoyed he was to know William Adama was still alive. Digging a pen into his palm as deep as he could stand it, the Commander used the pain to block out other thoughts and jump back into the fray.

"Tigh, Sitrep."

"The first fifteen transports have landed on Galactica, Sir. The next six that arrive from New Caprica will be directed to three of the civilian ships. Dualla's expected back aboard Galactica within the hour."

"Good. Helo, Sitrep."

"We've reduced their centurion forces, but we're not outpacing them."

Saul felt the need to interject. "Commander, we've only got another hour to get the offensive forces on the right sides of the map. If we don't contain the Cylon battalions by that time, this whole effort's gonna be curtailed. Dramatically."

"I'm aware of that, Colonel. Captain Agathon, options?"

Helo stepped up close to Lee in the Pegasus CIC. "Drop the troops from the Cylon Headquarters, for the time being. Send in the remaining defense batteries, using those troops to come up the lines like this." He slid the models into different positions, then traced a similar pattern along the glass board behind. "Take out the battalions here, here, and here"—fingers pointed at the targets—"then close ranks, at this juncture." Helo tapped the spot and moved the models in a particular formation.

"Colonel Tigh, evaluating Helo's plan, it seems like a risk worth taking. I'm ordering him to proceed."

"Whatever it takes, Commander—let's just get the frakking ships home." Tigh hadn't understood why they'd assigned units to the Cylon Headquarters in the first place; the time to take the skin-jobs down would be _after_ the New Capricans had all been shuttled off planet.

Lee turned off the link to Galactica momentarily, facing Helo. In a tense whisper, he expressed his real concerns.

"Karl, Kara's probably in that compound. We wanted the troops to assess security measures, estimate head count, isol-"

"Lee, you told me yourself that Sharon's working on a plan. The Admiral can help her put it together. We don't know where Kara is yet, and we didn't intend to storm HQ, since the Cylons seem to be hell-bent on keeping her with them. Let Sharon do her job; you'll be able to get Kara out of there, when the time comes."

Apollo nodded, though his look was resigned, not convinced. "Make it happen. We have a lot riding on the outcome." He flipped the link back on with Galactica. "Colonel, let me know as soon as Dualla is in place."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Sixteen Weeks After Occupation, End of Day One, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus thirty-six hours to planned mission end.**_

Baltar was caught completely off-guard when D'Anna re-entered their quarters. Wordlessly, she moved quickly to the chair where he'd been working and pulled him to his feet in one graceful motion. Before he could say anything, her mouth was at his, hungrily taking in his lips, sliding her tongue along his teeth, her form glided fully against him. His body responded immediately—it had been a long time since someone had stirred his desire by the sheer wanting of him. He felt himself getting lost in her, the sensations of her hands running along his back, her hair brushing his cheek as she sucked, hard, along his pulse point.

A low vibrating moan seemed to come out of nowhere as Gaius was hit by the full effect of wanton need. He forcibly pushed her onto the table, a hand between her legs, stroking the cloth and getting lightheaded as her scent reached him. Gaius sensed her hands fumbling with his pants, and realized he should stop her, slow things down at least for a minute to find out what was driving her this way. D'Anna had never been so impulsive, certainly around him, and Gaius wondered what had happened to make her seem—primal. _Gods, could it be…she's afraid of something? It's like someone grabbing life with both hands…_

"D'Anna," he murmured, sliding his hands along her shoulders and arms. "We need to—" She crushed her lips into his, stopping him. He was going to try again, but her hand was now wrapped around his erection, and the way she played with him flooded his senses with a lust he thought he'd die if he didn't satisfy. _I haven't been touched like this in…Ahhhhhgh. More. Yes, more…_ the slick heat of her mouth had taken him in fully, and he was bucking against her, hands carelessly grabbing her hair. He was no longer a person, only a feral creature desperate to surrender to his want.

Gaius didn't remember how they finally ended up in her bed, naked and mindless. He didn't recall when they transitioned from the second coupling to the third, or what exactly she'd whispered in his ear that affected him so deeply later on. Time had passed without marking, and he awoke to find himself completely immersed, entwined with D'Anna in an intimate way that had little to do with the afterglow of sex. He was besotted with her.

_My man, get a hold of yourself. It's just because it's been so long. You can't be falling for her. It's loneliness—you've missed Vivian._

At that, Gaius snorted in self-disgust. Vivian. Not even _real_. Could someone actually be said to _miss _an imaginary person?

D'Anna stirred. She squinted at Gaius, then smiled. It was the most genuine expression he'd ever seen on her face. Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek; with shock, he realized he'd involuntarily closed his eyes in pleasure from her touch.

"Have you been awake long?" D'Anna asked in a still-gravelly voice.

"No, not long at all. I was remembering…before. Images and sensations. You really—well, honestly, D'Anna, you've thrown me for a loop." He winked at her as he said it, but the flutter in his stomach was pronounced. He truly was off-balance from this shift in their relationship.

"Mmmmmmm," she hummed, and he could feel the vibrations from her chest. "That 'might make two of us,' as you humans say."

"'Interesting,' as you Cylons say." Baltar grinned; he shuddered slightly when the thought flitted in that it was the most genuine expression on his own face he'd probably displayed in far too long.

A somberness settled in abruptly; Baltar could detect it as soon as the Cylon lifted herself to sit up. "What happened before you returned here, D'Anna? You can talk to me." He rubbed her back lightly, hoping she would believe him. He actually meant the words.

"I'll have to leave soon…I've been gone too long as it is. But there didn't seem to be many…options in the interim; the outcome depends on the centurion forces and our system specialists."

"Options for what, D'Anna? I realize the Resistance attacked the Detention Center, but—"

She interrupted him, her anxious eyes staring deep into his own. "They're here, Gaius. The other Colonials. Their battlestars destroyed our ships before anyone thought…none jumped away. The Detention Center computer hub was compromised, and in turn, all our other systems were hijacked."

"But the fleet doesn't have that kind of knowledge…"

"That traitor Cylon does. The one referred to as Sharon."

Baltar cupped her cheek, trying to soothe away the bitterness in her voice. "You've encountered more difficult situations—all of you. What is so…so frightening about this one?" D'Anna's distress was palpable; as before, the thought crossed his mind she seemed worried about her own survival.

"Sharon knew how to jam our transmissions and reroute all controls to her hub. The Cylons in other sectors of space don't know what's happened here; loop feeds have been set up to make our operations appear normal. It could take several days before our Brothers and Sisters recognize a problem. By then, many of us will have…" her voice wavered. Baltar was unnerved to see her so clearly vulnerable.

"It's alright, D'Anna. Tell me the rest." He had pulled her close to him, speaking quietly in her ear.

"Without the basestars, there are no resurrection pods. We're also too far away from any resurrection ships, and there's nothing here on the planet surface."

"So if a Cylon's killed—it's final."

D'Anna nodded, her hair brushing against his face. "I'm…frightened. I've never experienced that possibility before." Moving to catch Baltar's eyes, she continued, "and I've never been afraid I might lose someone either. I didn't understand Caprica or Boomer, their attachments…I'd never _cared _about anyone in an intense way, Cylon or human. But you…"

Gaius kissed her. It was a deeply felt gesture. He couldn't rationalize the sensations; he'd become emotionally involved with this woman, Cylon or not.

Things had been different with Caprica, in his past. While she was there in the flesh—_such an ironic choice of words—_Baltar had imagined he was falling in love with her, though he appreciated, later, he'd simply been overcome by the provocative mixture of her mercurial behavior and her prowess with him, both in and out of bed. For Vivian, he'd possessed authentic love, but he was never sure _what_ she was, and that meant he couldn't be sure of himself either.

During his long health recovery, however, Gaius had finally resolved one important issue. Vivian was ephemeral. Unattainable. Hallucination, projection, or some devious Cylon memory chip—regardless of the explanation, she was intangible. _Not_ real. He couldn't sustain himself that way; he needed someone with a physical presence to be there when everything was frakked beyond all recognition.

In this moment, a wretched terror began bubbling up from the core of Baltar's being as the implications sank in regarding his newly discovered emotions. He'd ached to be reunited with other humans; this rescue attempt was his one best chance, even if he wasn't someone the humans "intended" to rescue. Now, though, he wasn't sure he wanted to leave D'Anna. She'd offered him a precious sanctuary of total acceptance. No desire to change him or explain away his faults, therefore no disappointment in him; full appreciation for his intelligence; and support for his research and curiosity. But would the Cylons accept him, if Gaius deliberately chose to remain with them—with _her_? Was he ready to abandon his human heritage once and for all?

D'Anna echoed his thoughts aloud. "I've talked to the others, Gaius, given them a glimpse into your research. They've agreed you can remain with us, _should_ remain with us. With me."

_Is Fate has revealing an answer to the question? _"I'm…that's…" _What was the right thing to say_? Tell them I'm thankful. I'll do what I can to help _us_ out of this situation." Baltar waited for his gut to clench. Nothing happened. _Maybe this is the right path_…

A different train of thought suddenly emerged. "D'Anna, who is 'they' now? If most of the Cabinet was aboard the basestar Lorien at the time of the Colonial attack…"

"Two of the models' leaders, Cavil and Doral, used escape pods and managed to land here safely. Leoben and I were already planet-side. Simon, Boomer, and Caprica per…perished." Gaius squeezed D'Anna's hand in support. She continued, "Representatives of those models were chosen to re-form the Cabinet here on New Caprica during this crisis. With different memories and programming, these new members prefer to be recognized by their original designations: Four, Eight, and Six."

"So what happens now? Can they keep the Headquarters protected?"

D'Anna was about to answer when a loud knock was heard at the door. She glanced quickly at her communications panel on the wall and realized several attempts had been made to call through. "Gaius, you mustn't be seen with me…like this. I'll have to go; slip into your room now—quietly—and don't leave our quarters. Do you know how to use the comm panel?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll contact you if it becomes necessary to relocate." The sound of an attempted break-in had them both scurrying. D'Anna grabbed a robe to put on as Baltar managed to enter his bedroom without making any noise. She walked to the door and succeeded in flinging it open before the centurion could force it down.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, End of Day One, Operation Sky Fall.nn**_** T-minus twenty-six hours to planned mission end.**_

Helo cursed under his breath as he listened to the latest battle reports. The offensive strategy had worked, but the centurion forces were still gaining on the ground troops. Ammunition was beginning to run low along the front lines; he was prepared to send additional supplies to the planet, but it would mean taking several transports off-line from the rescue runs, and there were still at least 15,000 people to evacuate. Despite Sharon's vigilance in jamming Cylon transmissions, no one could be absolutely sure a basestar wouldn't appear—there were too many variables. Sharon was checking the routine schedules in the Cylon logs; so far, nothing suggested a regularly arranged basestar visit was imminent. Helo still felt apprehensive.

Tigh buzzed through the comm on a private channel. "So, Helo, got any other tricks we can use? Those frakkers are persistent, and I'm willing to bet your thinkin' about pulling transports to ferry new artillery."

"You're the battle-tested leader, _Sir_. Any ideas?" Helo said it with humor in his voice, but deep down, he hoped Saul could see something he'd missed.

"Well, Captain, have we located their armories?"

"The Resistance forces raided one some days ago; Sharon located two more, but they're behind the centurion lines." Helo could picture Tigh rubbing his chin, mulling over their options.

"How many shoulder-launch missiles we got left?"

"On the ground…twenty, based on the last update from Tyrol."

"Does Tyrol know the geography in that section, where the armories stand?" Helo could hear the man pick up his cup of coffee, then set it down again.

"More than likely…but he'd need several people to break through the enemy line and lug heavy ammo away."

"Chief's better than anyone else down there at rounding up people to help a cause. Let him figure that out. Give 'em the missile launchers, tell him to take twenty or so 'volunteers' along for the show, and have Racetrack assign viper cover—three or four birds should do it."

Helo wanted to like this plan, but he couldn't. "Sir, there are enough centurions to take them all down before they could make it to one of the sites, let alone—"

"You're thinking like a human, Helo. Think like a machine. Those motherfrakkers won't believe there's much danger; they're defending a wide area and are counting on numbers to overwhelm our forces. One attempted break in the line won't draw new centurions to the hubbub, guaranteed. If Tyrol and his group are quick on their feet, they'll penetrate far enough to get to one armory. The vipers can hold off their fire until the Colonials reach the targets, then shoot approaching troops to smithereens while our guys haul ass." Saul sounded pleased with himself.

Wavering, Helo countered, "but how much can they feasibly bring with them? Ten or twenty percent? It's a lot to risk for that."

Tigh was becoming irritated. "Everything's a frakkin' risk right now, or haven't you been listening to the chatter on the wires? Ten or twenty percent's more than we have right now, and we only need enough to hold the Cylon forces back another fifteen, maybe twenty hours. After the civvies are aboard our ships out here, we can blast the whole godsdamned area, wipe the toasters _out_. There's no reinforcements coming."

Helo drew in a long breath, then exhaled slowly. He didn't have a better strategy, and Tigh was right; they only had to fight this kind of warfare for another day at most. If Tyrol failed, or his group couldn't pull enough artillery through to make it last that long, Helo would send transports then, the primary evacuation much closer to completion.

"I'll make it happen, Tigh. Thank you, Sir, for the assistance."

Saul let out a low laugh in Karl's ear. "Sometimes you have to roll the hard six, Captain. And to show I'm a good sport, I'll tell ya what it means now."

Ears perked, Helo held the receiver a little closer.

"Basically, it means you have to be willing to go in blind, flip one-eighty degrees without knowing what's behind you. A soldier's never supposed to turn his back on his enemy before the frakker's been taken out, but sometimes the evil you don't know really is worse than the one you do, and so you have to confront the unknown head-on."

Unsure he'd fully made the connection, Helo decided to consider the explanation later, when there was time for such things. Knowing he had to respond, Karl cleared his voice. "Let's confront the unknown, Commander." He could hear Tigh's sarcastic chuckles as the connection was terminated.

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Shoulders taut, eyes fixed resolutely on the bottom-lit table in his ready room, Lee listened intently as Sharon described the proposed plan for Kara's rescue. She'd managed to transmit a topographic map, as well as blueprints for the Headquarters compound. They were discussing the likely locations where Leoben could keep Kara, reasoning he would choose the innermost apartments for best protection. Lee was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea the Cylon had imprisoned her in a _living_ space instead of a cell for all this time. The implications turned his stomach sour.

"Alright," he commented, once Sharon finished laying out the steps and reasoning. "Excellent work, Lieutenant. I'll begin preparations now; as soon as the mass evacuation is complete, this mission will be green-lighted."

Sharon's hands were on her hips as she paced slightly in the Detention Center control room. It seemed clear Lee intended to complete the mission himself, and it went against every military protocol she could think of.

"Commander, permission to speak freely."

"Lieutenant…Sharon…I can imagine what you're about to say." Lee braced for her reaction.

"I realize why you had everyone else clear out of here before we discussed anything, and even though I know how much Starbuck means to you—respectfully, Apollo, the mission should be completed by someone planet-side. Sam is well-suited to this—"

"No, Sharon. I know—he's her husband, and he's very skilled, especially after managing the Resistance for a while. But…gods, I don't know how to explain this in the time we have. A lot's happened, and I'm—this is my _fate_, Sharon. My responsibility. If anyone else were to go, the mission would fail. That's not ego talking, it's…you just have to trust me. When all this is over, Helo can help fill in the details; he supports the decision, understands the significance."

Taken aback by Lee's admission, Sharon shifted her tone. "Obviously, Commander, you don't owe me any explanation. I'll complete all orders."

"It's okay, Lieutenant. If I were in your shoes, especially after so much…tragedy, I would find my actions unorthodox, at best. You can't know how much I appreciate everything you've done—for my father, for the Resistance, for all of us."

"Then Sir, I have a request." Sharon's voice was eerie and controlled.

"Go ahead, Sharon."

"There should be two passengers aboard the Pegasus—I asked Dualla specifically to ensure they made it to your ship. Their names are Maya and Hera."

"Her…Hera?" _ It couldn't be a coincidence, could it?_

"Yes. A lot's happened here too, Apollo, and I hardly know how to describe it all. But the important thing is that Hera should be reunited with her father as soon as possible. Karl needs to understand who she is, and you need to keep Maya with her, because my little girl's bound to be scared right now."

Lee was gobsmacked. "Sharon…my gods…I'll take care of it as soon as we're finished here. I wish I knew what to say…and Helo will have so many questions." _I have so many questions…_

"Lee…please do what you can to arrange some time for Helo to talk to me." She hated to sound so imploring, but it was difficult to be in the middle of the process they'd fought so hard to bring to fruition and yet still be unable to hear Karl's voice, tell him the things of most consequence.

"You have my promise, Sharon." Lee's voice was hushed. He realized he hadn't been thinking of Sharon as a person, and he'd sworn to Helo and to himself that those days were past.  
"I'll find a way for you both to have a private moment for conversation. And I apologize for my insensitivity…I haven't even asked how you're doing yourself. Are you injured? Do you need food, supplies? We can find a way to get to you."

Sharon wondered what had taken place to change Lee—he was more aware, more attuned to others than she remembered him being in a long time. "I'm holding up, Apollo. We've found the essentials for survival here, in terms of food, water, and medical supplies; there's ammo stored as well. I can tell the Cylons in Headquarters are working relentlessly to find a way around the blocks I've set up. Sooner or later, they'll also try another battle surge to retake the Detention Center. I'm estimating we'll need reinforcements within the next two or three hours; I don't have hard data to prove that, but I sense an attack is coming very soon."

"Consider it done, Lieutenant. Again, excellent work…and I'm grateful to know you're alright. I'd better go now…it's time for status reports." Lee was reluctant to end the discussion at this juncture, when emotions seemed so close to the surface, but he had little choice.

"You'll get her home, Lee. You'll get all of us home." Sharon closed her eyes as she turned the comm off, relieved in the knowledge her daughter would be reunited with her father and bolstered by the realization Lee Adama, the leader she'd always expected he could be, had finally emerged.

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**End of Part A:** Please move to** Part B**

**Reviews appreciated.**


	15. Ch 12B: Patterns in the Chaos Part B

Sit Rep: New Caprica, Sixteen Weeks After Occupation, End of Day One, Operation Sky Fall

**Event Horizon Chapter 12: Patterns in the Chaos—Part B**

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Sixteen Weeks After Occupation, End of Day One, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus twenty-four hours to planned mission end.**_

Baltar nervously checked the bags one more time, verifying his backpack included the portable computer, storage device, his written notes, and some clothes to bring aboard for himself and for D'Anna. She'd contacted him an hour earlier, telling him to pull some things together for an extended stay aboard one of the larger Cylon space transports. The Cylon Cabinet had decided they should split into two groups to prevent the entire leadership from perishing in the event the Colonials somehow managed to storm Headquarters.

D'Anna entered the apartment and Gaius swept her into his arms before he even registered what he was doing. She returned the embrace, then stepped away, agitated and hyper-aware. "You've got everything packed…good. Before we meet up with the others, I want to prepare you for a few things. Until now, you've lived among us, but protected—you weren't constantly being observed by the whole group.

"Aboard the ship, that will change. Cylons are used to vessels with significant space—none of us can have that now. In close quarters, Gaius, you'll be watched. Understandably, there's blatant hostility towards your race, and you'll need to manage the stares, the needling comments, the undercurrent of animosity."

"I understand."

"Leoben and Doral are remaining on New Caprica—Leoben to stay with his pet, and Doral to keep a watchful eye on Leoben. The Six will remain as well."

"His pet?" Baltar couldn't quite remember what the reference meant, and every detail seemed significant at the moment.

"Thrace…Kara, Starbuck, whatever you call her. He's been obsessed with her since his visit aboard Galactica, and he won't be dissuaded. Leoben wanted us to bring her aboard, of course, but the Cabinet refused. He cannot be indulged much further in this addiction, and there's no trust, since she's human."

"But how…" Baltar had understood his position was always somewhat tenuous, yet D'Anna had managed to secure his passage. Why would Kara be denied?

"Kara has 'killed' Leoben with alarming frequency, despite his various attempts to subdue her will. While he has the woman under his thumb, for the moment, the Cabinet considers her a significant threat, especially under the current circumstances."

_  
_Gaius rubbed his face briefly, reflecting on the information. "I'm seen to offer some value, because of my research?"

"For the others, yes. To me…" D'Anna lightly kissed him.

Baltar's eyes held hers for a long moment. "I still don't understand the plan, though. If we're in space, orbiting, the fleet can attack—"

"A significant number of raiders are currently in orbit, Gaius. Our centurion forces here have been depleted; the raiders have been more successful in maintaining their numbers. Leoben, Six, and Doral will marshal our ground troops and overtake Sharon's control at the Detention Center. We'll be able to contact another basestar and transfer safely aboard once it arrives."

Grabbing a bag, D'Anna motioned with her head for Gaius to collect the other one. He slipped the backpack on, adjusting the weight, then followed her out. In a few seconds, they were walking swiftly down the corridor, and he was surprised to discover sentimental feelings threatening to spill over into tears as he absorbed the reality they wouldn't be returning.

The two of them met with twelve other Cylons and all stepped outside to board a shuttle Gaius had never previously seen on the grounds. The wind was fierce; the sun had fallen below the horizon, and the cold intensified proportionally. Fifteen minutes later, everyone disembarked. The group spread out somewhat, walking towards the large transport in the distance. Centurions could be spotted as shadows surrounding the Cylon ships. Other shuttles arrived; Baltar could hear voices behind them.

A blinding flash of light, followed by a resounding crackle, jerked the Cylons into acute awareness. Gaius could make out pieces of metal scattering into the air; centurions had been hit. Then wailing started; human or Cylon, he wasn't sure. Although Baltar could make out a substantial number of bio-Cylons running towards the ships along one pathway, D'Anna grabbed his hand and guided them on a different route. The transport vessel closest to them was now only fifty feet away—hatch open, ramp extended. They were running.

A voice from a different direction was heard yelling his name loudly. "Baltar! Gods, it's Baltar—grab him!" The sound was all too familiar—_Roslin_. He looked around, catching sight of the Admiral and Laura moving towards a Colonial ship. The woman was pointing at him, screaming as she ran forward. Gaius watched Adama try unsuccessfully to reel her back in.

Without warning, in a series of rapid actions Baltar would attempt to recall over and over again later, he felt D'Anna's hand lose its grasp as he stumbled forward. Pain shot through him; he'd twisted his injured foot against rock ice, tumbling to the ground. Baltar's head smacked hard into the rutted frozen snow, disorienting him momentarily. Rough hands grabbed his arms and feet; he was being carried between two humans towards the Colonial transport. _I'm so sorry, D'Anna…_

Another series of shots rang out. Dazed, Gaius could make out D'Anna's voice yelling "Nooooo!" followed by a woman's screech of agony. Looking to his side, even at the odd angle his body was twisted in with the two men lugging him, Baltar made out the image of Laura Roslin falling to the ground. He thought he saw blood pooling in the snow as they approached the lighted ramp into the Colonial ship; an anguished Adama raced up the walkway behind the captive Gaius, Laura's limp body cradled in his arms.

Brutally shoved into a corner, Gaius struggled to remain conscious as he felt his wrists and feet being bound together. As he lost his fight, the last thing he remembered was the sound of a defibrillator being charged for use.

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_So slow…need to re-remem-remember. Lee keeps…gets on top of me…want him to stop. But says he loves me…and I tell…tell him…love him. But was someone else, before. Lee who isn't Lee. Nope. Nope. Apollo…Apollo. Where's Apollo? Can't hold on…longer. Mind is…slipping..._

Leoben watched Kara muttering to herself. He couldn't make out the words, and it wasn't all that important; when he wanted a more coherent conversation, he could usually lower the dosages of the medication cocktail just enough to engage her a little better.

Sometimes he missed his feisty Kara, the one with the interesting verbal responses and driven-ness—her palpable vitality. But _that_ Kara had also been violent, defiant, and non-compliant. Worse, she'd refused him sexually, and he couldn't stand that. He _needed_ her too much. Certainly, in the current circumstances, he could ill-afford her murderous temper, so the placid Kara was preferable to the alternatives for either of them. He got want he wanted when he wanted it. Leoben could afford to give her a few comforts, then, like music to listen to or tools for painting.

In her drug stupor, Kara lacked the fine motor control Leoben was aware she possessed; the canvases contained random elements, geometric shapes and proportions, nothing that added up to meaning. It mattered little. Leoben had never been interested in Kara for her mental faculties, and he didn't believe she needed them to manifest her destiny. It was natural, imbedded in her soul; when the time was right, whatever keys she held to understanding—the Final Five, God's divine plan for the Cylons, how the Cycles would end—these would be revealed without Kara's conscious volition. She just needed to be alive—nothing less and nothing more.

Leoben walked up to her, placing a cool hand against her cheek, which was covered with a light sheen of sweat from the effects of the medications. He leaned in and kissed her; docilely she accepted the contact. "Interesting picture, Kara. Are you finished with it?"

She nodded, her head wobbling when she tried to still the movement.

"Then let's lie down together."

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Tyrol was breathing heavily, worn out from carrying the heavy missile launcher and munitions while he ran in the deep cold of night. The centurions—those frakkers—were impervious to any such limitations. The Resistance group he'd drawn together, ten starting out, had covered all but the last 2,000 feet to the goal. He could see the building lit up against the blackness; back the way they'd come, the burning remnants of the missiles' destruction outlined a path like a surreal runway.

They wouldn't have much time to complete the actual mission; despite Helo's assurances, it seemed unlikely the centurion forces would ignore such an obvious swath cut through the main defensive line. Conditioned by many years of working on ship engines, Galen's ears picked up the distinct hum of vipers in the distance. His team would need extended air cover to make their way back with the loads of heavy munitions.

As the Colonial team pressed on, still more centurions emerged in large numbers from the armory itself. Metal heads turning, snatches of gleam reflected in the building spotlights, Galen was certain the group had been seen. Given how deep they were behind enemy lines, there would be no mistake—they were hostiles. He yelled out a warning to his soldiers, then launched his remaining missile into the centurion unit. The Toasters were very close to the armory entrance; Tyrol hoped like hell nothing else ignited from the weapons fire.

Returning fire now snapped through the crisp air, and moaning sounds echoed lightly in the distance behind Galen. He judged five, maybe six of his soldiers had been felled. _Frak, this is becoming a bad situation fast. _

Thoughts of Cally and Nicholas hit him as the fate of his friends became a loud reality in the background. A bullet skated across Galen's outer left arm, forcing him to move or suffer the same outcome. Rage pushed him to run again, that ever-present energy generator he relied on. Anger layered over rage layered over even deeper fury; these kept the fire within burning. _ It's all I am now._

Another Colonial fighter fired his loaded launcher—their last missile—into the centurions guarding the doors. As they shattered, brittle steel clinking against hard ice, a hole ripped through the armory entrance.

Tyrol had no idea how they'd collect supplies and make it back _anywhere _at this point, but it was starting to make little difference. Most of the settlers were being rescued, taken away from this three-dimensional version of Hades, and if he died now, it would suit him nearly as well as boarding Galactica again. The primary mission left to him had been accomplished, and he had little else to live for or live on, except the incessant wrathfulness. Away from New Caprica, that wouldn't be enough.

Frantic screams from the remaining reconnaissance team jerked Galen's attention towards the obstacles right in front of them. He_ did_ have one thing left to finish: it was his responsibility to get these people back alive, if he could, and provide the necessary munitions to ensure everyone else made it into space. He owed the fleet that much. Knowing he needed to signal the vipers already in place, Tyrol sent up a blue flare, which meant "hold position." The pilots would know the soldiers were entering the building and planned to emerge in fifteen to twenty minutes.

Unfortunately, as Galen approached the front hole created by the missile, he was dismayed to realize the how unstable the conditions inside the armory were becoming. Expanding flames erupted from inside the building. The situation was becoming more grave by the second. The remaining team members—three—slammed up against Tyrol in a full-on run. They all staggered past the torn doorway.

Galen headed in past the first row of stores, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by a gun pointing directly at his chest. The bio-Cylon before him tilted her head in disbelief.

Realizing who it was, Boomer dropped her weapon immediately. "Galen it's me, Boomer. I thought a Colonial team would come…we wanted to help you get munitions out, but there's no time." She grabbed his arm, spinning him around to see what has happening. Centurions with flame torches were deliberately setting fire to the ammunitions and other explosives.

"We've got to get out of here, now. Call your men, Tyrol." He stood there, dumbfounded, unwilling to trust the Cylon before him and yet comprehending, in one horrible instant, the building was about to explode—several times over.

He shouted to the other soldiers. Caprica emerged from the shadows; on instinct, his gun went up.

"No, Tyrol—she's with me." The three team members were suddenly around him, trying to process what was going on.

"Boomer's going to get us out of here. It's our only chance." Tyrol spoke with more confidence than he felt, and looked with scarcely concealed trepidation towards Boomer and Caprica. Rumbling sounds startled them all into flurried movement; the Cylons encircled arms around each team member and began running at non-human speed.

The events that followed were nearly incomprehensible. As Boomer and Caprica gripped the waists of the four men, Tyrol had the sensation of being lifted off the ground. Wind whipped past his ears as though he were on a motorbike.

Boomer worried about the pain Caprica was in as they made their way across the frozen land, knowing she shouldn't be carrying such weight with her broken arm. There was no choice. All of their lives were in danger. The final armory destruction would generate a crater more than fifteen hundred meters wide and at least two thousand meters deep; even Boomer wasn't sure they could run far enough fast enough to miss the blast.

Seismic activity under their feet warned them of the moment upon them. As the Cylons threw the Colonials to the ground, shrapnel and dirt were being flung in a far-reaching arc, striking the survivors even at such a distance.

Caprica's acute hearing picked up the disquieting sound of an avalanche dislodging on the mountain range a mile to the north, and behind her, she registered the muted rush of roaring flames sustained in the aftermath of the destruction. "Boomer, I can't see you—what's your status?"

"I'm alright. You?"

"Yes." Boomer's body had covered Tyrol during the actual explosion; she now slid to the side to give him freedom of movement.

As soon as he could stand, Galen struggled to get his bearings, but he couldn't see anything. It was pitch black; they were too far from the carnage for the reflection of the flames to offer any illumination.

Boomer turned on a flashlight she'd brought with her. In this light, Tyrol could make out where the soldiers and the Cylons were standing. With a sharp nod from their team leader, all of the humans drew guns on the two women.

"Galen, there's no need for those weapons. We want to help you, help the Colonials." Boomer was calm and motionless.

Utter, transformative shock ripped through Tyrol. _What's the game?_

"Please listen to me, Galen—all of you," Boomer continued. "We know the Colonials need support to finish the rescue mission…ammunition, medical goods, non-perishable food. Caprica and I will make sure you and the Colonials get access to as much as you can carry away in the time remaining before the basestars re-appear."

Unbidden, Tyrol found himself thinking about the person talking—she still seemed like a _person_ to him—Boomer. He understood he shouldn't—_couldn't_ trust her, trust_ it_, but even as he registered that, another part of him remembered…s_he covered me with her whole body just now, risked herself to be sure I was safe…like my Boomer. My Sharon. _

Those words resonating in Tyrol's mind pushed him into a panic. _There isn't any "my Sharon," you pathetic frakker. Don't make the mistake of trusting her another time…she's a machine. A mother-frakkin' toaster. _ Galen screamed aloud as he went to pull the trigger, but fell momentarily to his knees when he realized he'd shot past Boomer, rather than striking her. The other soldiers were ready to fire too, but stopped as they absorbed their team leader's missed hit and watched him try to reason through the confusion.

Tyrol stood again and waved off the other soldiers. They dropped their attack stances. A hand on his arm made Galen flinch.

Boomer's voice was quiet and calm as she spoke to him. "Look, there's no reason to trust me. I get it. But the fact is, you're now way off course, unable to see a foot in front of you, and trapped behind Cylon lines in sub-freezing temperatures. You can wander out there with your team, dying of hypothermia, unless centurions find you first—or you can let us guide you back towards the humans' offensive forces."

Staring at her in the unnatural bluish light from the flashlight, Galen said "Tell me why. Why should I? Why are you?" Despite the grim odds, Tyrol wanted it to fit together. An offer of support—from this Cylon of all the Cylons—he had to know. Something—anything.

The whole of existence was absurd; Galen had realized that when Boomer was shot by Cally and he later married her, that woman who killed the only person he ever truly loved. Right now, this Cylon talking to him wasn't really Boomer, that Boomer…_my Boomer_. But somehow, he felt, things should add up. She needed to do that for him.

"There isn't…" Boomer caught herself. This human, whom she'd loved…_still_…had been ravaged by recent events. He was asking these questions because on some level he _wanted _to believe her, maybe even believe _in_ her. She owed him an explanation. Many explanations. Her survival and Caprica's could depend on Tyrol's willingness to vouch for them later.

"When all this began—when the Cylons came to New Caprica—the two of us were the ones who convinced the Cabinet to try co-existence. Unfortunately, the others, even from our own models, didn't understand how to actualize it. Machines don't need…things like freedom and independent thinking are not of primary importance. The Cylons, as a race, can't grasp the subtleties of these ideas, because at the core, the concepts of freedom and independence are illogical. Everything is connected, everything is bound; true freedom and independence are illusions."

"I don't know why I even tried to listen to you—" Galen stepped forcefully away from Boomer. _She_ was the one sounding "illogical."

Boomer reached out, taking Tyrol's hand firmly. The contact was warm, the energy familiar. _My Sharon._

"That explanation sounds crazy, I realize. The Cylons destroyed their creators to gain freedom. But once they had that, it made no sense to them. What was there to accomplish with this 'freedom?' They weren't liberated—not really. Cylons could choose to eliminate the humans, but they couldn't procreate to produce unique offspring, they couldn't know what it's like to face death for an ideal, they couldn't experience the joy of abstract creation.

"So when Caprica and I explained why the humans offered value, the other Cylons glimpsed the truth of that. What we didn't predict was the Cylon shift in attitude towards freedom actually meant they were _less_ capable of grasping how humans operate. We were even further apart as races. And that led to disastrous consequences."

Boomer paused, frustrated she wasn't getting to the point quickly enough. Galen wanted to understand on a personal level. He wanted to know her individual motivation. He also wanted the unacknowledged question answered: did Boomer's choice have something to do with him?

Squeezing Galen's hand, Sharon sighed and tried one more time. "What I'm trying to tell you is that Caprica and I—we fell in love with…certain humans, and through those experiences, we came to care for humans more generally. That love altered us, propelled us into becoming individuals. So now, we seek out freedom and independence, as you do. We feel emotional pain and loss. We long for the people we've missed, those separated from us.

"Caprica and I no longer fit into the Cylon schema; we're something else now. Just like Sharon Agathon, we want to be with the humans—live with them, even die with them if necessary."

Tyrol looked hard at Boomer, trying to see her eyes, despite the black hole that seemed to envelop them. "You want to—you're looking to come with us aboard Galactica…live with humans again?"

"Yes."

Dropping her hand, Galen rubbed his face, pacing in a small figure-eight shape. "Boomer—Sharon—I can't make any promises about that, even if I wanted to." He was trembling, grateful the darkness hid that fact, at least.

"No one's asking you to. We know the score. Just let us help as much as we can, give us a chance to prove our commitment. That's how Sharon Agathon did it—she demonstrated her loyalty."

A shift in the energy between them warned Boomer she'd said something very disconcerting to Galen.

"You've just provided the main reason why I shouldn't trust you at all. This could be an elaborate trick, Boomer, designed to win me—win us—over by using the same tactics. After all, they worked before, _right_? Gods, I'm such an idiot to stand here listening to you!" Tyrol called out to the soldiers who had been standing by, listening.

"We're done here. Line up and head out on my order." Savagely, Tyrol made the strides to the front of his group. Tears stung as he turned into the wind. He didn't have a clue where to march to, but right now, the best thing would be to keep moving.

If the group was lucky, the sun would rise early enough to show them the topography. With the maps in his pocket, Galen could probably lead the team to safety. Assuming the hypothermia didn't overtake them first. It would definitely be a race to the finish.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As the two Cylon women watched the humans disappear into the darkness, Caprica spoke up. "I still believe Sharon Agathon is the one to approach, Boomer. This one—Tyrol—he's too damaged. He was…his love ran deep for you, or who he believed you were."

Boomer ignored the statement, focusing instead on Caprica's arm. "Let's reset that, and I'll give you some morpha for the pain." The other Cylon went to protest, but Boomer interrupted her. "Whatever we decide to do next, you've got to be able to manage with this arm."

Finally, after completing her work in silence, Sharon whispered a response to Caprica's initial statement about Tyrol.

"_I _believed in who I was_ too_, Caprica." Boomer's voice was trembling with emotion. "And as uncomfortable as it must have felt for him, he'll never understand I felt that as well. The other Eight chose Helo; I chose Galen. I would still choose Galen. I remember passing over, before resurrection, being held in his arms, wishing there was a way to undo everything. The anguish in his eyes still haunts me."

Caprica rubbed Boomer's back. "I'm so sorry, Sister—even I didn't realize the extent of your connection to him." She turned to put her face in the wind, closing her eyes to let the cold work its magic. It always seemed to bring focus to her thoughts.

"I think there's a way to prove our intent—whether he wants that proof or not." Caprica turned to face the other Cylon.

"We know what they needed from the armory. There's still the second building. We can use one of the ground snow transports parked at the facility to deliver the materials to them. If we're fast enough, we can probably hit the medical warehouse too.

"But we'd need to move instantly; we have to overtake them, proof in tow, to guide them to the human camp. It takes ninety minutes for hypothermia to set in, and they'll only have another thirty or forty-five minutes of survival after that."

Caprica could make out the look of determination on Boomer's face.

"We can do that…we _have_ to do it." She started in a full run towards the remaining armory, Caprica close behind.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, Beginning of Day Two, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus twenty hours to planned mission end.**_

Lee moved quickly into a sitting position when he felt Helo's hand against his shoulder. He had reluctantly agreed to try and sleep for three hours; the narrow bench in the Commander's battle ready room was adequate for short periods of rest, though Apollo winced as he tried to move his neck.

He knew the deeper bone-tiredness was slowly wending its way through his body, but he hoped his physical conditioning would stave off the worst effects for another twenty-plus hours. As intense as the current situations were, Lee couldn't forget the second mission still ahead. He had to maintain his stamina to respond to the challenges he'd face on New Caprica.

Rubbing the muscles in his neck, Lee muttered a greeting to his XO and gratefully accepted the coffee offered. "Status?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"Commander, the evacuation is progressing according to projections. The raiders continue to make attack runs as each Colonial ship enters the outer planet atmosphere, but our vipers have managed to knock them out eighty-five percent of the time."

"And what's happening the other fifteen percent of the time?" Lee was concerned some ships wouldn't have FTL capability, or that civilians were being killed in larger numbers.

"Our ships sustained some damage, but so far, we've got FTLs online for all of the transports/larger ships. We did lose…two transports were destroyed, Sir. One hundred twenty souls in all." Helo's voice was soft; he was sure Lee would be upset at this news.

The Commander's face was determined as he stood up and walked over to one of the monitors. Studying the data in front of him, Lee noted the estimated viper force reductions—twenty-two percent lost after the first day—and the number of fleet ships meeting refugee quotas that had already jumped to the overall rendezvous point—eight. That meant nine civilian fleet vessels remained in harm's way, waiting for arrivals of more rescued settlers. Updated estimates of the number remaining on New Caprica hovered around 11,000 people. Lee sighed deeply. They needed to slow down the pace of losses while picking up speed on the evacuations, and he wasn't sure those weren't mutually exclusive goals.

"Sir," Helo spoke after giving Lee time to absorb the information, "the raiders are shifting their patterns over the last two hours. There've been fewer offensive approaches; they seem to be transitioning into a defensive strategy."

"What do you and Tigh make of that?" Lee was caught a little off-guard by this observation.

"We've tried a few fly-bys to get a better three-dimensional view, and we think some Cylon transports have left New Caprica, orbiting the planet instead. Tigh believes the Cylons are ensuring their leadership group is protected from the chaos down below. They're probably confident they'll find a way to break through Sharon's software redirection and firewalls, call basestars to the area, and escape."

"Well, we'll have to be equally confident they won't manage that." Lee paused, looking at Helo more closely. He was a little reluctant to bring up Sharon's name; he'd broken the news to Karl about Hera and arranged for a short private meeting, then given Karl extra time to talk to his wife over the wireless. Tigh had taken over the Pegasus XO's duties during that period, which had included arranging for Detention Center reinforcements.

"How did it go…the time with Hera, I mean?"

Helo shook his head. "I can't…I'm still trying to make sense of it all. But she's beautiful, Lee, and so smart. So perfect. Just like her mother. I'm grateful…grateful she's been able to spend the last few months with Sharon."

"Did Sharon…do you know how—" Lee faltered, uncertain he was ready to learn how—or why—someone would "fake" a child's death. He was afraid to find out who could be so ruthless, knowing the heartbreak and damage left in the wake of such a terrible deception.

"She thought it was better to explain things when we could spend some real time together, in person. Your father wasn't involved, though, Apollo—Sharon was clear about that."

"And the woman with her, with Hera—how is she involved?"

Helo looked down, rubbing the tip of his boot into the floor. His shoulders tensed as he tried to make out what the fragments of information really meant. "She adopted Hera and had been raising her on New Caprica. That's all Sharon told me. I decided not to grill the woman—Maya—yet. She seems pretty rattled, and I have to concentrate on our overall mission; if I interrogated her right now, I have a feeling I'd be so angry I wouldn't be able to do my best job."

Lee looked at Karl sympathetically. "I'm happy you have your daughter, but so sorry you've had to find out this way, in the middle of a crisis."

Helo's voice was muted, resonant with emotion. "I've taken Maya and Hera to my quarters." He faced Lee directly. "I've also assigned a Marine to guard them and ensure the two have what they need. I trust you understand."

"Of course, Karl. I'd do the same. Maybe we should—"

Their conversation was interrupted by a trilling comm receiver. Lee put it on speaker in the ready room. "Commander Adama. Go ahead."

Dualla's voice came through. She sounded alarmed. "Commander, the transport with Admiral Adama and Laura Roslin is landing on the Pegasus. As soon as I heard the orders coming from the ship's pilot, I thought you should be informed. It's not clear who's…who's been shot, but the emergency trauma team has been called to the landing bay."

Lee felt the panic radiate from his chest. "Understood. Helo has the deck; I'll be in Life Station. Adama out." Without looking at his XO, Lee raced out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Massive bedlam greeted Lee as he entered Life Station. Close to a hundred soldiers and civilians—mainly Resistance fighters, from the looks of them—lined the hallway outside the main hatch. Inside, all bays were full, two to a slot, and the additional wounded on gurneys filled nearly all available floor space. Apollo could hear orders being shouted to free up an OR and transfer a patient out of ICU to make space for someone in dire straits. He spotted his father—gaunt and shell-shocked—standing next to Cottle. The auburn hair falling to the side of the gurney in front of the Admiral gave away the identity of the seriously injured patient; Lee kept looking stupidly between his father's face—far away and non-comprehending—and the still form on the bed. Blood was spattering on the floor. _Laura's blood_._ Is she even alive? Is it wrong to be so relieved it isn't Dad laying there?_

Another person jostled him, forcing Lee to collect himself and walk over to his father. _Gods he looks so vulnerable, so overcome…_

"Dad." The elder Adama turned towards Lee's voice, and recognition slowly came across his face—too slowly for Lee's comfort. He energetically wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him tightly.

Bill slid one arm along Lee's back and clasped the other over his neck, gripping on for dear life. "Son…oh gods, Son. They shot her, shot Laura—in the chest. Another Cylon, another bullet to the heart…" Apollo could feel the man's shoulders shudder with emotion. "I'm sorry, Dad. Gods, I'm so sorry." He squeezed the man a little closer. "Cottle brought you through it before; he'll do the same for Laura now."

Lee did his best to bear part of his father's weight, giving the man space to feel safe and supported. It was difficult to know what to say, how to bring any other comfort. "Let's get you to a bed too, find someone to take a look at you. After her surgery, maybe you can stay in the same room." Lee wondered if he was suggesting something Cottle wouldn't accept, but he pressed on; the Admiral needed medical treatment as well. Lee would lie right now, if it meant he could have a doctor verify William Adama was really still whole physically.

Cottle found the two men a few minutes later. Bill was immediately agitated. "Why aren't you with her? Oh, no…no. No!"

The doctor was at the Admiral's left side in one stride, helping Lee restrain him. "We have another surgeon aboard the Pegasus, Bill; he's working on Roslin right now. She was holding on when I left; I came over here to check you out." The Admiral slumped back, his energy drained. "I can't lose her, Jack, I can't…gods help me, I'm not sure how to—if she doesn't—" tears began slipping along the wrinkles of the man's cheeks.

Cottle shifted sides, whispering into Lee's ear. "I'm going to give your father a sedative, Commander; we can't know what he's experienced, but he's clearly quite distraught—all of the events down below must have really smacked him in the gut." Lee nodded his agreement.

Easing Bill into a fully prone position on the temporary bed, the doctor administered a shot, watched for the man's eyes to close, and then began carefully inspecting his condition. He spoke with a restrained tone. "I see some new scars, fairly recent, but they're not deep. The Old Man doesn't appear to have any broken bones; I'll have a few scans taken to confirm. He's lost a fair amount of weight—at least thirty pounds, if I had to guess. The last few weeks must have been rough—there are some physiological signs of malnutrition and dehydration. Overall, though, physically, he's going to be fine, after we pump him full of nutrients and fluids."

Squeezing his father's hand, Lee leaned a bit into the gurney, awash in relief. "When I saw him covered in blood, I was so stricken..."

"It's Roslin's. I'm afraid her recovery isn't nearly so certain." Despite his set face, Lee looked up and caught the pain in the doctor's eyes.

"I should have realized what was motivating him to go there, go to New Caprica. I was so absorbed in my own problems, I didn't pay attention to—"

Cottle patted Lee's back briefly. "Don't beat yourself up over that one, son; the Admiral's a private man. He might not have admitted it at the time, even if you'd asked him."

Lee stood up straighter and adjusted his uniform. "I've got to get back to the CIC—there's still a lot going on. I'd like…please find a priestess, if possible, to perform the Ritual of Healing. For both of them." Cottle noticed how somehow the blue in Lee's eyes was turning darker, yet the intensity in them was brighter than ever.

"Doctor, keep Captain Agathon apprised of Roslin's condition. If my father asks for me, tell him…tell him I love him and I'll come back here soon."

An odd lilt in the man's phrasing led to an involuntary response: Cottle could feel the hair on the back of his neck creep up. He stared hard at the Commander. Lee didn't look away, but his face revealed none of the racing thoughts Cottle was sure were flickering through. _He's already decided on a course of action about something—several things. Why do I sense they're so perilous?_

Lee turned away from the doctor and walked purposefully towards the Life Station hatch, uncharacteristically not saying another word or even glancing back at his father as he stepped through the large metal door into the corridor beyond.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Apollo _wanted_ to walk by the hangar decks, watch the settlers as they stepped back onto the metal hull of the battlestar. Lee was consumed with a certain dread and he wanted to see the faces of the refugees, glean clues regarding their experiences over the past few months, understand in a surface way what they'd been through. _What __**she**__ might have been through_, his heart acknowledged. After such detailed planning, after the deaths of so many good people, beyond the cyclone of activity in the CIC—Lee wanted the whole situation to feel_ real_. So much was happening, and they faced substantial risks just ahead, yet the sensation was dreamlike and detached.

Forcing himself to stay away from the hangars or risk falling completely into the emotions of everyone else, Lee walked instead to his quarters. Once inside, he walked to a shelf next to his bed and grabbed a small picture of Kara he'd kept there. The icons of the sea nymph, Aurora, and the sun were also lifted and placed in a small bag. Gathering up his combat fatigues, flight suit, and already-stocked backpack, Lee took one last look around the space and made his way towards his battle ready room once more.

Ten minutes later, items ensconced in a corner, Apollo glanced at the monitors, took a deep breath, and emerged on the main Command Center floor. The glass doors made their familiar sharp sound behind him.

One look at Helo's face told Apollo the ground situation was threatening to devolve into a retreat. Lee stepped up to the main console and barked out orders. Helo moved quickly to confer with him.

Karl's voice was hushed but urgent. "Sir, as Sha—Lieutenant Agathon predicted, the Cylons are attempting a significant offensive against the acquired Detention Center target. Our ramped up forces were already in place, but the centurion contingent has us outnumbered five to one." He exhaled heavily. "Worse, they're launching a second offensive all along our evacuation perimeter. Zarek and the Resistance units have been maintaining position, but they're getting pummeled. Zarek's asked for viper cover, or the transports and raiders can't launch, but it's tricky to use air support so close to civilian rescue routes."

Lee studied the positions of the replicated pieces on the console, arms nearly spanning the length of the table-side as he leaned over the model of the current war theatre. He was looking for patterns, a way to regain leverage or deceive the Cylon troops. "What about Tyrol's mission? The others have got to be running low on ammo by now…"

"No joy, Sir. Vipers were in position take out advancing centurions, but the action got too hot; explosions were viewed towards the front of the building, and then a massive chain reaction of firepower blew a crater over 1,000 feet wide and deep."

"Frak me! It must have felt like an earthquake." Lee shook his head in disbelief; fortune was not favoring either opponent right now. "About Tyrol…any contact?"

Helo clenched his jaw. "No, godsdamnit, no. It was nighttime, and the flames and smoke made accurate ground views impossible. The pilots were pretty shaken up; Tyrol was supposed to call them in as soon as the team exited the facility, but for some reason, that didn't happen.

"The viper team had to break away before they got caught in the destruction. One of the pilots thought he saw a small group of humans on the far north edge of the crater, but he couldn't be sure. The group was already flying on fuel reserves by then, so they headed back to the barn."

Lee stood up, clasping his hands together behind his back as he faced the XO. "What's the temperature out there?"

"It was well below freezing at the time of the explosions. If Tyrol and his soldiers were on foot, they would've been forced to navigate in the dark to try to make it back to camp. Daylight came about three hours ago; we've got two recon vipers searching for them now. With major fighting in the settlement area, though, I'm not confident they'll be able to see anything indicating Tyrol's whereabouts."

Apollo narrowed his eyes. "Captain, we have to call off that aerial search; every viper has to be dedicated to protecting the rescue routes and the Detention Center. We can't spare anyone. Viper losses are sitting at thirty-five percent, with nine thousand people still waiting earnestly to get the frak out of there. Those grounded ships are the evacuees' best hope; in these conditions raptor transport runs aren't an alternative, and we're running out of time."

The communications officer interrupted the leaders' discussion. "Sirs, Lieutenant Agathon on the wire. She's asked to speak with Pegasus Actual under Code Red conditions."

"Patch her through to my ready room." Lee and Helo dashed inside the small room.

"Lieutenant Agathon, this is Pegasus Actual. Go ahead."

"_Sir, Anders is in command of the external forces protecting the Detention Center. They've lost thirty percent of their units already. I can hear explosions from viper fire and missiles. We're still going to be over-run in another twenty minutes without a new strategy. Anders was able to outsmart them, buy us some time, but it cost a lot of lives. We need updated orders."_

Helo's face was concentrated as he excitedly moved closer to the comm. "Lieutenant, I've been considering options. The Detention Center must've had some defense mechanisms built into the design—tower gunneries, electrical fencing, things like that?"

Lee cracked all of his knuckles against the table. He wondered why this hadn't occurred to them earlier.

"_Yeah, I've seen some of the arsenal…okay, here are the Cylons' latest blueprints. They'd beefed up security measures after—"_

"Lieutenant, we don't have time for commentary!" Apollo's patience was wearing thin; so much was at stake in the next ten minutes.

"_I've got ten outside gunnery positions I can run automatically from here. There are also electrical currents running along every external path that can be jacked up as needed. And…and four missile launch points. They won't travel far, but there's enough kick in each to knock out forty or fifty centurions, if they're close together." _ Sharon's voice revealed her excitement; she'd clearly been concerned about how to get out of the current mess.

Helo proceeded to issue the next orders. "Lieutenant, direct Anders' teams to fall back inside the building. Their job is to make it through the entrance points within thirty seconds, by your mark. You'll have to lock and seal the doors, then, to activate the electrical defenses. Fire half of what you've got as soon as those doors are closed and the current's been turned on."

Lee added, "We'll keep this channel open. I want a Sitrep in five." He gestured to Helo as he re-entered the CIC and approached the central console again. Looking up at the dradis, Apollo could tell the ground ship launches weren't moving; he had to figure out how to help Zarek.

Pointing at the communications officer, Lee asked to be linked with Galactica Actual. Tigh was immediately on line.

"It seems the rescue's getting bogged down, Commander Adama. I've got two squadrons of vipers ready to launch on your order."

"Right on time, Colonel. Give them the word." Apollo swung a data keyboard around to punch in some coordinates. He glanced several times at the models on the table, muttering positions as he typed. "I just sent you the formations and positioning for those squadrons, Tigh. We both know they won't get there soon enough, though, so here's what I want you to do with the fighters already flying sorties.

"We trained them in this maneuver, but I want them to do it with nose pointed towards the ground. They should execute the Starbuck-Apollo vertical, in series, following this specific pattern and timing." Lee entered more data.

Tigh could be heard whistling, and Helo paced next to his Commander.

"Frak, Apollo," said the Colonel. "That would require a lot of skill from seasoned pilots who've had a hell of a lot more sleep than our merry little group here."

Helo chimed in. "Apollo, you can't be serious about this…it's a very tight formation that's got to be held for a full three minutes to get off sufficient rounds. Plus it's in atmosphere; the g-forces will be—"

"I'm well-aware of the constraints, Helo. Kat and Racetrack ran them through this maneuver a hundred times—"

Tigh was outraged. "In space! The thrusters aren't worth frak under air pressure. They'll have to fly parallel to the horizon to move to the next location, then form and hold again!"

Lee slammed his fist into the console; to everyone's surprise, a large crack began to form almost immediately after. He deliberately lowered his voice, but spitted his next words out.

"Colonel, Captain, we aren't here to discuss. Tigh, follow orders or be relieved of duty."

Without pause, Tigh responded "Yes Sir." There wasn't time for anything else, and all of the men knew it. It was Lee's gamble; the mission might fail if he was wrong, but it would surely fail if they did nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee stared at the chrono on his wrist. He was minding the current time, measuring each minute as they waited to hear from Sharon. The five minute mark came and went; Helo tried raising her on the comm, but it was pointless. Six minutes ticked past, then seven.

Finally, a voice came on. It was male; Anders had somehow reached the control room.

"Anders…glad you made it through. Sitrep." Lee could see that his XO was holding his breath as they waited for information.

"_It's been a hellacious fight this morning, Sir, but we've managed to hold our position here at the Detention Center."_

Cheers went up in the CIC; Lee could hear applause and whistles from Galactica's officers as well through the wireless.

"Casualties?" Lee grabbed a pen, digging it into his palm again to blunt the pain of the next news.

"_Forty percent of our forces have been lost, Commander, with another thirty percent wounded. We've got no medics with us, though the medical supplies here will definitely help us in our triage efforts."_

"And Lieutenant Agathon?"

Sam's voice was measured. _"She was injured; a few of the centurions managed to make it through the doors with our forces, and one got all the way to the control room. The Marine here took the toaster down, but the frakker got off a number of shots first. I've got someone bandaging her up. She'll make it to the comm here shortly."_

Lee saw the anxiety in Helo's eyes and deliberately re-directed the conversation to the most immediate issues. "Your men and women have served the entire fleet with distinction, Anders. We're in your debt." Lee pushed away the twinge of resentment he felt, knowing this was Kara's husband on the other end. _ Without his sacrifices, the rest of the mission wouldn't be possible._

"Anders, there are bound to be continued efforts by the Cylons to breach the walls of the Center. We've got to ask your units to maintain vigilance along all corridors and entranceways. Based on other Cylon tactics, the rescue timeline's been pushed back—it looks like it will take another twelve to fifteen hours to finish evacuations."

"_Understood, Sir. You can count on us. Sharon's here now, for her report."_

"_Commander…"_ The obvious pain in Sharon's voice was as disconcerting to Lee as it was to Karl. A sharp intake of breath was heard before she continued. _"The centurion that infiltrated the control room created a lot of damage. A number of the primary power sources and computer conduits are non-functioning."_

They all waited awkwardly as she struggled to even out her breathing. _"Luckily, the main rerouting and looping functions held, but only through the immediate aftermath. From here on out, I'm going to have to manage everything manually."_

Remembering the unusual way Sharon had reversed the Cylon computer virus at another time—cutting her arm open and plugging a live wiring trunk in—Lee felt his throat constrict.

"What will that entail Lieutenant?"

"_I have to keep my hand immersed in our liquid conduit…I mean the Cylon computer system conduit, Sir." _ The loss of blood was making Sharon feel lightheaded.

Helo finally addressed her, his voice tender. "Sharon, you've been such a big part of this mission's success…we just need you to hold on a little while longer. Can the Marine give you anything for the pain?"

"_Mmmm. No. Morpha interferes with the transmission process. A local anesthetic would also impair my performance because of the location of the wound."_

Lee watched Helo's fingers curl up as he rested his upper body on his knuckles against the table.

"Do you need a transfusion? Can't they—"

Sharon cut him off. _"Helo, I'll be fine. We'll set up a blood plasma IV, which'll probably be all I need. I'll make it through. Focus on completing the rest of the mission, okay, so we can get the frak out of here!"_

The communications officer's announcement caused Lee to swing around and pick up a different receiver as Helo continued with Sharon.

"_Tyrol reporting in, Sir."_

"Chief—thanks the gods you made it. We thought—"

"_Yeah. I won't lie—it's been a harrowing few hours, and I've got frostbite on my nose, cheeks, and all of my toes. About the same as the others."_

Something in the man's tone made Lee's blood run cold. "What is it, Chief—what's happened along the evac routes?"

"_The frakkers nearly swarmed us, Commander. But the vipers—gods, that was a sight. I've never witnessed anything like it…"_

"What_ happened_, Tyrol?"

"_The verticals beat them back, Sir. Must have been seven, maybe eight thousand toasters all over us, and the firepower knocked out sixty percent of 'em in a matter of minutes. We watched another—two thousand, I'd guess—retreat. About a thousand are left; we keep taking fire, but the ships are launching again. _

"_Zarek told them to risk sending up ten vessels at a time, speeding up the process. The viper pilots are flying point, but they gotta be on bingo fuel. I'd send out a fresh squadron to pick up the ships once they're in space and place a tanker as close as you can to the defense perimeter."_

"Understood."

"_Umm, Sir, I don't know how to tell you…" _ Tyrol stammered. He was so tired of giving or receiving tragic news.

Lee waited, knowing there had a reason for the strange sound in Galen's voice.

"_It's Zarek. He's been shot up pretty bad. I'm no doctor, but…"_ Galen closed his eyes tightly shut, the memory of Socinus dying on Kobol making him nauseous with grief.

Suddenly Lee was grateful this conversation wasn't taking place over loudspeaker. "I see. Make sure he's on one of the transports leaving now, Tyrol. If it's possible, assign a medic or Marine with battle triage experience to escort him."

"_I will, Sir." _

Galen's mind was swimming with what to do next. Should he tell the Commander about the two Cylons who'd helped them? He was compelled to find a way to get Boomer and Caprica back to Galactica or Pegasus, despite the insanity of the idea. Right now, however, he was too afraid of the reactions from the other Colonials to even risk the women being seen, let alone placing them on a transport.

In truth, Tyrol was equally afraid he was being played for a chump. Letting the enemy infiltrate in this way was tantamount to treason…

Galen finally decided it was too soon to make any major choices, and certainly the wrong time to say anything to Apollo. Boomer and Caprica _had_ saved his men, and the soldiers could attest to that; the team would also _have_ to acknowledge the two Cylons hand-delivered precious supplies—ammo, medicines and first aid, even non-perishable food.

For now, he'd sworn his team to secrecy, letting the Colonials believe their group had heroically managed to gather up so many goods, survive the explosion, avoid detection, and trek everything through the frozen miles in pitch darkness. In the confusion of battle, no one was thinking about the improbabilities.

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As Lee set down the receiver after talking with Tyrol, he rubbed his face several times. He was mentally assessing the progress of the overarching mission, trying to figure out if it was time to leave. His anxiety was becoming ferocious where Kara was concerned. He could _feel_ her again, and his senses were telling him she was on the final precipice—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

There would be no "good" time for an officer in command of an actively engaged war theatre to abandon his post. This period was as close to a "lull" as they were going to get: the Colonials were still in possession of the computer networks, the most recent centurion offensive had failed, and the rescue flights were proceeding. His father was safely aboard Pegasus. It was time to put Kara first, time to fulfill the need that had driven him all these months—_all these years_.

"XO, please come to my ready room." Helo nodded.

"Karl…"

"You need to go. _I _need you to go—Sharon's worse off than she's letting on, Lee, and we've got to get her out of there, get her proper care." His voice was thick with fear and sadness.

"We knew it would be difficult, Karl; keep faith." Lee went over the corner where he'd set his gear, pulling out another icon he'd been safekeeping for this moment. He placed a small replica of the goddess Athena into his friend's hand and closed the man's fingers around it.

"She's the warrior goddess, Karl. I'm sorry to ask so much of her, but I'm confident Athena will bring us all through."

Helo's eyes were full. "Thank you. Who'd ever have pictured this scene between you and me, huh?" He smiled weakly. "Leave with a clear conscience, Apollo. I've got all of the documented plans you laid out previously; Tigh, Dualla, and I know what to do."

Lee grabbed Karl for a moment, then let go. "Wait until the seventy-two hour mark, unless you have to jump sooner. I have a strong sense you'll have to deploy the EMP weapon to make a final escape; don't hesitate when the time comes. I—" Lee felt his throat tighten. "Take care of my father, Helo. He was so unlike himself when I went to him in Life Station…so frail."

"You know we've got your back, Lee. And you'll return in time. It's your destiny—and hers. Remember everything the Priestess told you, Apollo, and everything I've shared with you too."

Patting Karl on the back one more time, Lee reached into a desk drawer and handed him an envelope. "Here are the orders transferring final authority to you. Tigh may—"

"He won't. There's enough that's already happened to Tigh in his life to drive him to drink; he won't want the burden of the EMP weapon on his conscience."

Not sure what else to do to bring closure, Lee simply smiled. He grabbed his things, ready to make his way to the raptor in the launch bay.

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**End of Part B:** Please move to** Part C**

**Reviews appreciated.**


	16. Ch 12C: Patterns in the Chaos Part C

Sit Rep: New Caprica, End of Day Two, Operation Sky Fall

**Chapter 12: Patterns in the Chaos—Part C**

**Sit Rep: New Caprica, End of Day Two, Operation Sky Fall. **_**Countdown Clock Reset for Commander Adama's mission: T-minus twenty-two hours to planned mission end.**_

Lee guided the raptor towards the New Caprican surface, locking in the coordinates for the green zone several clicks outside the main settlement area. One viper pilot had provided cover until Apollo entered the atmosphere; from there, Lee dropped closer and closer to the ground, gauging the landing site until he found cover for the raptor—a large rocky configuration obscuring visual detection. The broad expanses of snow were disorienting, and Apollo had some difficulty sticking his landing on the hardened, icy surface. He could feel the winds outside press against the raptor's hull, causing it to sway; Lee wondered if the raptor would slide away from its current location and resolved to use the skid anchors once he stepped outside the hatch.

As Lee cut the engines and took his helmet and collar off, he sucked in a deep breath. He needed to remain focused and centered; he felt, unfortunately, exhausted and on a bad adrenaline trip. Ragged edginess made his hands tremble and a sharp pain lodged itself in the middle of his forehead. He closed his eyes and shook his head violently for a moment, as though he could wring the physical limitations out of his body like a dog shaking off water. Opening his eyes again, he looked for the med kit; he resigned himself to the fact stim pills would be necessary to push past the hell of the last fifty hours and face whatever obstacles lay ahead in his search for Kara.

Lee combed through the contents of his backpack looking for the small pill case. He'd brought along several types of small munitions, climbing equipment, food rations, clothing, and first aid supplies, all crucial for successfully getting himself and Kara off this godsforsaken barren planet. He slipped the bag with his three icons into the inner pocket of his fatigue shirt, protected by the thickness of his flight suit, then swallowed the stim pill.

Backpack firmly in place, Lee released the hatch and stepped out of the raptor. His face was stinging from the cold, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim grey of a fading daylight that had yielded no sun.

Walking around to the back of the raptor, Lee hunted for a panel with a small red dot painted on it. Using his razor knife—the one Kara had given him, inherited from Kendra Shaw—he opened the blade and pried the panel open. Lee carefully removed the launch key and placed it in a cushioned case that was tucked into another fatigues shirt pocket. Next he picked up the skid anchors he'd set momentarily on the ground. Lee strategically placed two over each rail, using his body weight to push the metal pikes deep into the ice.

The ship secured, Lee scanned the horizon with binoculars. Dusk was falling quickly. His timing was perfect; he could approach the Cylon headquarters in the dark. There were no centurions in the immediate vicinity; to the east, black smoke clouds traveled outward from the decimated armory. Sweeping towards the west, Lee could see the two main battle areas. He was too far away to hear shots or explosions, but it was clear, even at this distance, the carnage was extensive. The sheer number of centurions surrounding the human enclave and the Detention Center rattled him; he'd never witnessed so many of the machines in one location. _Gods, what it must have been like for these people, facing that metal army every day..._

For the next hour, as night set in, Lee carefully made his way into the heart of the remaining Cylon-occupied area. At last, he was within a thousand feet of the complex. The stim pill had worked its magic; excited and energized, Lee could feel the adrenaline surging as he prepared to infiltrate.

Using a small pinpoint flashlight, Apollo studied the blueprints of the Headquarters layout, attempting to line up the features on the map with the three-dimensional structure in front of him. Finally, he spotted the target location for entry: a main exhaust grate. Noiselessly making his way to the site, avoiding the timed centurion crossings and sweep lights, Lee crouched against the wall, pulling his gloves off. Applying his razor blade tip to remove the screws holding the grate in place, Lee gingerly removed the metal, then climbed into a dark tunnel that would wind its way through the building and up to certain floors.

Lightly sliding the grate back into place, Lee began crawling along the tunnel at a fairly rapid clip. He tried to use the flashlight sparingly, only turning it on when he reached specific junction points. The darkness seemed to suck energy from him, in the closed space; sweat rolled off his forehead as he pushed himself across the span of the compound. At last, a ninety-degree sweep upward told him he was close to his ultimate goal: reaching the third floor. Digging into his bag, Lee pulling out his climbing tools, crampons, and fastened them to his boots and gloves.

Hoisting himself up, Lee began the most arduous part of the entry plan—climbing perpendicular for the next eighty feet. Muscles burned as he swung hard to force the crampon teeth to grab the metal lining of the air shaft, pulling himself slowly along. Apollo tried to control his inhale and exhale, but his grunting became more audible as he fought for each additional few inches upward. Limbs heavy and numb, Apollo finally felt a small breeze hit his face, indicating he'd reached the third floor ceiling juncture. Sweat pouring, grunts becoming moans, he managed to drag his body past the metal joinery and sprawled flat along the new tunnel.

Breathing in harsh gasps, Lee rested on his side for a few minutes, willing the throbbing pains in his hands and feet to ebb. He scrambled to pull the crampons off before his muscles seized up; only seconds later, it took a great deal of effort just to reach into his flight suit and clasp the shot he'd need to neutralize the toxic lactic acid buildup in his muscles. He had to wait nearly ten minutes for the drug to take full effect.

Finally able to stretch out to his full length once more, Apollo rolled over until he was sitting upright. Sliding the backpack around to his chest, he reached into a side compartment. With substantial reluctance, Lee swallowed another stim pill. He had to hope he could complete the rescue before his body refused to cooperate further. Repacking the equipment, he positioned the rucksack on his back once more.

Forcing his breathing to become regular and quiet, Lee crawled forward, stopping whenever he saw shafts of light projecting up into the blackness. _Still no sign of her_. He was beginning to feel anxious that he and Sharon had made the wrong assumptions; another pool of light beckoned ahead. Reaching the area, he peered through the vent grate leading to the room directly beneath. His eyes danced as he spotted a blond-haired woman pacing the floor— it was Kara. Real, alive. _Kara_.

Other movement in his peripheral vision prompted Lee to scan the area around her. As predicted, Leoben was also in this location, and he was—_Gods_! _That __**cannot **__be what it looked like! _Leoben has kissed Kara, and she appeared to respond_—what the__** frak**__ was going on?_

Knowing he couldn't afford to lose focus or become emotionally engaged right now, Lee forced himself to turn off the analyzing part of his brain for the time being and concentrate on the next tactical steps.

To gain entry to the room from this location, it would be important to move quietly. Pulling out two sound-canceling devices from his gear, Lee placed them over the grate. He wouldn't be able to hear any conversation below or noise around him, but the modulated frequencies would ensure no one could detect his movements overhead.

Lee was putting his previous climbing knowledge to good use. He went about anchoring the belay loop and attaching the biners and ascenders to the rope for forward and backward mobility. Afterward he tested the rope knots to ensure the assembly would hold when the weight of two bodies was added. The distance—20 feet—meant a significant rope length had to be used; he'd have to be careful neither of them ended up tangled in the mechanisms.

Quickly reflecting on what he'd seen with Leoben to infer Kara's state of mind, Apollo pulled a seat harness out of the backpack; it might be necessary to knock her unconscious, and the extra stability would be essential to pull them up with her as dead weight.

Counterbalances in place for anchoring, harness and rope attachments arranged, and the backpack set at the best angle for a quick grab, Lee sat down briefly, leaning against the shaft wall for two precious minutes. It was essential to relax his body sufficiently, gain the flexibility so important for execution of the next phase of the plan.

At last, shifting forward, Lee lifted the two noise-canceling devices, turning them off and setting them on the shaft floor. Adjusting his binoculars to the right focus, Apollo evaluated the situation below. To his chagrin, Leoben was still in the room, watching Kara adoringly. It enraged him to see the smile on the Cylon's face and the obvious physical attraction he held for Kara.

Somehow, Kara seemed calm and unaffected. He could make out her actions; she was painting on a canvas and humming to piano music playing in the background. Lee had never seen her like that. She appeared placid, and… _and dead in the eyes_. When Lee finally glimpsed her face full-on, he gasped. Her presence was eerie, a ghost of the person he identified as Kara "Starbuck" Thrace. Her cheekbones were jutting, skin drawn tight, her body thin and weak. The green eyes he'd hoped to see were grey instead—dull, somewhat uncomprehending, blank. A wrenching twist hit his gut as he suddenly tried to imagine how to bring a spiritually dead person back to life.

"_No, Lee,"_ he whispered to himself, knowing he couldn't give in to any emotional madness. The best thing he could do for her right now was offer a way out of the nightmare.

A precise blast shot, adjusted for the barrier of the grate, would take out Leoben in under twenty seconds. The sound would alert any Cylons nearby; guards could be in the room in another ten seconds. Lee would need to toss two colored smoke canisters to the floor as soon as Leoben fell, then slide down…fifteen seconds.

He'd have to hit Kara across the head to knock her unconscious; after tossing her over his shoulder, he could use the ascenders to get them both into the air shaft. Once they were safe inside the vent, he could throw several grenades down below to slow the pursuit of any centurions or bio-cylons. Dragging Kara in a nylon sling behind him, Lee would crawl towards the nearest exterior exit, hopefully avoiding the blast effects. Once at the new shaft juncture, they'd have to drop 80 feet with ropes, Kara likely still unconscious.

Prepared for what awaited him, Lee managed a final look at Leoben before putting the binoculars away. Raised on the balls of his feet, Bracing them in the seam of the shaft for leverage, Lee fired at the Cylon's head. Blood spattered thickly across Kara's canvas as she spun around to see Leoben's body pitch dramatically forward.

The smoke canisters hit the floor as intended and emitted dense clouds immediately. Lee dropped with a solid thud to the ground as he heard Kara say "Lee, Lee, oh my gods, don't leave me, don't!" He comprehended with breathless shock, as he stared at her bent-over figure, she wasn't talking to him, but to the dead Cylon bleeding out.

Without hesitation, Apollo stepped behind her and swung a fist hard into her right ear, catching her unconscious and sweeping her over his shoulder in one movement. The heavy clanking of metal could be heard moving about the smoke-filled room. Letting his weight sink somewhat into the harness, Lee grabbed the ascenders and forced his arms to pump upward along the suspended rope. He groaned from the strain as they cleared the layer of smoky air and felt his arms tremble in exhaustion before they cleared the ceiling entrance to the shaft.

Flinging Kara's body off his back and onto the shaft floor first, he managed to hoist himself through the vent, collapsing next to her. Feeling around for the previously stashed grenades, Lee frantically pulled the pins and heaved his body across Kara's to toss the grenades forcefully downward.

Crying out in pain from what felt like a serious muscle tear, Apollo ground his teeth together as he shifted his weight in the cramped space and struggled to appropriately wrap the nylon sling around Kara's motionless body, pulling her into a tight fetal position so she wouldn't be buffeted by the narrow confines of the crawl space. He fumbled with the carabiners, finally anchoring the main sling cord to the portion of his seat harness resting along the small of his back.

The grenades exploded in the room below, knocking Lee off-balance from his kneeling position. He landed awkwardly on his right arm, the muscle tear shooting pain all along his shoulder and neck. Recovering somewhat, Lee righted himself and immediately tossed the backpack far along the metal shaft. He crept forward until he was ahead of Kara, the cord pulling taut. Grunting loudly, he began pulling both of them away from the chaos below. The acrid chemicals were wafting up into the corridor; he had to keep moving, or they would pass out from the fumes.

Lee's pushed his body mercilessly as he continually shoved the rucksack, then crawled, dragging Kara behind him. Each minute was worse than the one before. _Only five hundred feet or so to the access point, Adama…you've got the stamina to make that…don't focus on the pain. _ Parched, sweating profusely, and wheezing, Lee was relieved to see the correct juncture directly ahead—at last, the way out.

Pausing to grab a water canteen from the bag, Lee allowed himself the luxury of drinking, moaning from the sensation of the liquid gliding down his throat. He poured some over his face too, washing the salty sweat away. Every connective tissue in his body seemed to ache; his limbs were beginning to shake uncontrollably. Injecting a second shot of the lactic acid neutralizer, Lee fell over, dazed and somewhat frightened by the revolt beginning in his body. _ Please gods,_ he said silently,_ please help me. I can't take another stim pill yet, or I might go into cardiac arrest; there's still a long way to go to get us both out of here. _

Apollo passed out after that. When he came to, he gauged by his chrono he had likely been out for twelve minutes. His body had cooled down, and the worst of the throbbing was gone. With a start, Lee sat up and used his flashlight to look at Kara, his eyes clouding over with stars momentarily from the lingering lightheadedness. To his amazement, she was still out cold; he worried he'd hit her too hard, then wondered if she was under the influence of medications. _ It would help explain her docile response to that repulsive Cylon_.

Taking another swig of water before putting the canteen away, feeling more alert and stable, Lee evaluated next steps. They'd lost precious escape time; the Cylons at the compound were probably in full search mode by now. Lee was confident they wouldn't figure out the escape route, but with Kara immobile, he was going to have a difficult time making it past the grounds undetected.

The large utility shaft he intended to use for the descent was near an outside wall. One wide pipe took up most of the space; Sharon had been unable to determine what the pipe carried, but it hadn't been insulated, so she was pretty certain it didn't give off excessive heat or cold. He would use looped ropes to slide quickly down the eighty feet to the bottom, then move through one more vent corridor to reach the outside.

Setting to work, Lee wound the descending ropes around the pipe and created two loops that would rest along the back of his thighs. The speed of descent with the weight of both of them would be too fast to control the landing. Apollo would have to break the freefall, using the crampons attached to his boots to grip the heavy metal long enough to stop the rate of acceleration.

After affixing the climbing gear to his feat, Lee dropped the backpack down the shaft and listened for the muffled thud before turning his attentions to securing Kara against him. Unwrapping the sling, Lee eased her into a more elongated position. After tying Kara's wrists together, he slipped the sling under her haunches. It took some twisting and maneuvering to pull her arms over his head, hands in front of his chest, then heft her up as he stood, using the sling to support her lower limbs. He made certain her legs were wrapped around his waist, then lightly bound her calves as a stabilizer.

Settling his balance with Kara draped across his back, Lee adjusted the rope around the pipe and leaned against the loops digging into his legs. Swinging his body off the edge of the shaft, the two began falling.

It took Lee more than thirty feet to get his boot crampons to grip the metal. He had to thrust his legs hard, digging into the pipe to change his momentum. That action had its own cost, however; the liquid inside the conduit began spurting through a small puncture created by the force of the strike, at a pressure that propelled the material some distance. Too close to the puncture, Lee heard the liquid hit his flight suit, then screamed as it burned swiftly through layers of plastic and fabric, creating a deep wound on the front of his right lower leg. As he reeled from the shock, Lee realized the physical integrity of the pipe was compromised; the caustic substance was quickly eroding the outer metal surface, making the hole larger by the second.

With grueling effort, Lee used his arms to push against the pipe and shift their angle. He succeeded in relocating them a full ninety degrees around, but as they reached the last twenty-five feet, the volume of liquid dispersal had increased sufficiently to be dangerous to them again. A small amount of the substance fell onto Kara's arm, and the resulting injury jerked her into semi-consciousness.

Afraid and disoriented, Kara suddenly arched away from Lee's body, her tied wrists digging hard into his throat. Gasping for air, Apollo struggled for enough awareness to land them. An abject panic shot through his body. Bracing his legs for the final impact, unable to see where the ground was in the darkness, he could only hope for a survivable outcome to this interminable ordeal.

Feet punching hard into the concrete floor, Lee howled in agony as the attached crampons caused his ankles to twist wildly. No human sound echoed against the shaft walls, however, because Kara's weight against his windpipe blocked any exchange of air. On instinct, Lee fumbled with the ropes around the pipe until their bodies fell backwards. Kara groaned loudly; Apollo quickly slid to the side to avoid crushing her.

Finally able to breathe deeply, though he couldn't see anything or adjust his body position, Lee groped until he found the right knots and could loosen the smaller ropes around Kara's wrists, waist, and calves. He felt her body roll away from him. She was rhythmically moaning. Jolts of sharp pain overwhelmed Lee's senses, and he was afraid he might pass out a second time.

When he could imagine attempting to move his limbs, Apollo pulled his legs to his chest and yanked the crampons off. Willing himself to sit up on his knees, Lee reached for his flashlight, looking to find Kara's exact spot and to put his hands on the backpack that was becoming his life-line.

Once he had briefly scanned Kara's face with the pinpointed light, he turned his attention to the wider area, searching for the bag. With a sigh of relief, he sighted it less than five feet away and crawled in that direction. Pulling out the canteen first, he sucked down more water, then dug through the backpack until he had the small pill case in hand. After a minute of fingering the contents, he swallowed an analgesic and a third stim. The one med wouldn't make much dent in his pain level, but something was better than nothing, and he couldn't risk the side effects of morpha. The other med was a questionable choice, but Lee was pretty sure he wouldn't make it much farther without a means to jumpstart his last reserves of adrenaline.

Begrudgingly, knowing the injury was severe, Lee finally used the flashlight to examine his right leg. He raced to bandage the wound, triple-layering the gauze to stave off the bleeding, concerned a trail of blood would be a clear liability once they hit the snowy surfaces outside.

Lee startled when he actually heard Kara's voice; she was awake. He turned and pointed the flashlight towards where he could hear Kara cursing; she was semi-prone, sitting up on her elbows, peering into the blackness.

Remaining on his knees, Lee shuffled over to her. Kara sputtered, "Where…frak…where'm I? What happened to Lee…you ba-bastard?"

Lee "Apollo" Adama stared at the ghostly woman in front of him, his mouth slack and eyes wide. _She can't make out much of my face in the small reach of the flashlight_, he reasoned feebly, but he understood the truth: Kara clearly didn't think the person in front of her was "Lee." Flustered by this unexpected and bitter revelation, Lee's frayed nerves urged him to let his instincts take over. In another moment, he was near Kara's face, smacking her hard with his fist. She fell back, eyes closed and breathing shallowly, unconscious again. As arduous as it was to carry her as deadweight, it would be much worse if Kara was conscious and actively working against the escape efforts. He was disconcerted and they were out of time.

Verifying Kara's arm wasn't actively bleeding, Lee applied a quick butterfly bandage and stuffed the med kit into the backpack. With a deep sigh of resignation and exhaustion, the man wrapped the nylon sling around Kara again, hooking her to the harness behind him and dragging them both towards freedom—or what he had to hope to hell was freedom. It was tricky to navigate around his injured right leg and maintain any pace, but Lee's desperation ensured he would keep moving.

At long last, Lee felt brisk fresh air hit his face. He was in front of another grate. Removing a pair of cutters from the backpack, he sliced along the edges, then leaned hard to push out the wired mesh. Crawling through the opening, his hands sank into the semi-melted snow against the wall. Taking care not to injure Kara's skin against the rough-cut metal grate edges, he pulled her through until she was clear of the building and used his razor knife to cut away the sling and his harness.

They were officially outside the Cylon stronghold.

There was talking in the distance and a faint sound of churning metal as centurions walked past. Balancing himself on his knees and hands, Apollo drew his good left leg under him and tested his weight on that foot. His leg was steady, and his ankle felt solid too. He pushed off that leg, using his arms to propel his body into a full standing position. Air hissed through his teeth at the torment. He was standing up, however, and while he would clearly be limping, his left ankle didn't seem sprained, which was a small blessing.

Lifting Kara to hang over his shoulder was another challenge altogether. Lee managed it on the second try, anxiety urging him to solve the problem quickly or risk capture. Staggering along, he pictured the compound map in his mind's eye; he wanted to make it to The Cellar location, but Lee had to at least find a tent or building they could hide in for a few hours.

Apollo needed to tend to their wounds, make sure they were both fed and hydrated, and bunk down for a few hours of sleep. Reluctantly, Lee acknowledged neither of them could reach the raptor unless he rested, no matter the danger. They would surely die if he couldn't keep his wits about him, and he felt his mental acuity failing.

Surveying the landscape, Apollo recognized a few landmarks. Many structures had been destroyed in the past fifty-five hours, but he could still make out several dirt paths and tent patterns matching descriptions of the school area and "temple" site.

Sharon had been certain the Cylons never uncovered the location of The Cellar, as confirmed in her last data sweep. If Lee could reach that hiding place, it was their best chance for respite.

It took fast thinking on Lee's part to avoid Cylon detection while lumbering awkwardly towards the right location. Apollo had his gun at his side, but Kara's weight and his own fatigue left him unsure if he could get off a decent shot. At last, Lee spotted a set of bushes and a tent that matched Sharon's description of the location.

Stepping inside the tent and laying Kara gently onto the floor, Lee used his flashlight to find the rug and the pull rope. A minute later he was carrying Kara down the steps, allowing himself to feel a small sense of success. To his amazement, entering the main area, he could see the generator-supported lights still worked. Finding a cot, Lee eased Kara into the canvas support.

Shifting to the inner room, Apollo located the communications panel; it also appeared to be active. Rapidly typing, Lee entered in the correct Pegasus security codes, then wired Helo he had successfully found Kara alive and made it to the safe house. In six hours, the two would begin the trek to the raptor, a three-hour hike from this location, taking into account his injuries and Kara's current condition.

Suddenly swooning forward, he hit his head against metal and knobs. There was no energy left; he had little choice but to focus on more fundamental human needs. Grunting, he propelled his body awkwardly into the outer room.

Lee bit his lower lip as he stared at Kara, weighing the next best course of action. The Resistance fighters had installed a makeshift shower in The Cellar during their time underground. To avoid the rapid onset of potentially life-threatening infections, it would be smart to clean their wounds thoroughly and remove the sweat and grime from their skin.

With some alarm, though, Lee realized he didn't know the composition of the chemical that had injured them. The water could react with the compound residue, causing another set of damaging changes. He decided he would test the water on himself first. Stripping completely out of his clothes, Lee started the shower and stuck his arm in with a small cloth; the water felt good against his flesh. Pulling out the wet cloth, he slowly wiped one short edge of his wound, and breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened beyond the expected pain of contact.

Adjusting the water temperature, Lee pulled a nearby chair into the shower, preparing to manage Kara.

He hobbled over to the cot where Kara was still laying, unconscious. Gently, he sat her up, propping her weight on his right arm as he pulled her shirt off. He had to lean his shoulder in to keep her upright while he struggled with the burned sleeve, trying to keep from pulling dead skin and crystallized seepage roughly off her arm. At last he could lean Kara back onto the cot, legs draped over the side, and remove her other clothes.

By this time, Kara was moaning softly and intermittently moving her arms. She was slowly coming to, Lee realized, and he needed to get these steps out of the way. Given her previous response to him, Lee was uncertain how to approach her now. He didn't risk knocking her unconscious again, or she might have a severe concussion, but he didn't think she would be very cooperative. Maybe if he had them both in the shower as she gained full consciousness, it would keep her a little bit calmer.

Holding her body against his, the full weight of her in his arms, he stepped into the shower stream, letting the warm water run over both of them. He tried to keep the water away from his leg and her arm, immediately sitting in the chair for better balance. With soap in his left hand, he caressed her skin, letting the tears form in his eyes as he took in the extent of the damage she'd clearly endured in Leoben's hands.

Apollo started to sob when he thought about how Kara had kissed the Cylon; what would possess her to see that monster as a lover? More significantly, _why_ in the gods names did she keep calling that monster "Lee?" Was it possible she really associated him, Lee Adama, with that creature? He was starting to shake as the emotions began to grip him hard; he was sharply drawn back to the present, however, by Kara's renewed moaning.

Transitioning her weight across his thighs, he grabbed the cloth to wipe away the soapy areas. Her eyes were fluttering open; without thinking, Lee cupped Kara's face with his left hand, then stroked her hair, saying her name reverently. She looked up at him blankly, but she wasn't struggling. He spoke to her softly. "Kara, it's Apollo. I know you're feeling a little confused right now. We're safe, and I need to ask you to try to remember me, remember Apollo, so you recognize you can trust me."

Her eyes locked with his; some glimmer of recognition appeared to cross her face. "A-Ap-Apollo?" He nodded, afraid to say more. "Apollo," she said again softly, leaning into his chest. "Apollo. Breath of life."

Gingerly, he continued to clean her, even daring to wash her long hair; she remained resting on his chest throughout the process, saying nothing. Pursing his lips, Lee twisted in the chair a little more, bringing her injured arm closer to the water. "Kara?" he said, leaning near her ear. "Apollo's still here. Your arm's hurt, and I have to use the cloth to clean it. This is going to sting—a lot—just grab onto me as hard as you need to."

To his surprise, she nodded, her face now in his neck; he began wiping the injured area. Suddenly, he felt her nails drive hard into his back, and she screamed. He stopped, dropping his mouth to her ear.

"Shhhh. Shhhh. Shhhhh, Kara. I know, my love, I know it hurts. Just a little more to go." He gripped her more tightly to him with his right arm, struggling to see the wound clearly enough to know how much was left to do. He was two-thirds of the way there…gritting his teeth, Lee continued his task, feeling her body shake against his as he moved away from the arm at last.

Standing up slowly, Kara's body still resting in his arms, he turned carefully in the shower stall, letting the water hit his back as he faced the chair. Straining to set her down gently without putting weight on his right leg, he managed to place her facing him, leaning her head into the corner. He lightly kissed her forehead.

Recognizing he had little choice on the next steps for his own washing, he forced himself to kneel down to the floor on his left leg, keeping his right stretched out in front of him. Slipping with a thud onto his haunches, he managed to bring his left leg around to match his right. The angle was awkward, though, and water splashed against the wound. Groaning uncontrollably in anguish, his body spasmed, and he fell back against Kara in the chair behind him. Lee jerked his leg out of the water's path and tried to focus on controlled breaths, but it was of no use; the screams leapt from his throat.

Without warning, he convulsed into sobbing, his chest hollowed out, shoulders slumped forward. His hands covered his face. Everything started rushing—his pulse, his breath, his thoughts. He grasped for concentration, but his mind refused. He was rocking back and forth, bereft of will, rapidly losing any sense of himself at all. Guttural rasping vibrated from his chest.

Time passed. A sensation slowly began to penetrate his brain; he leaned his head back, feeling hands massaging his scalp, foam lightly dropping down his cheeks and chest. He was confused, unable to formulate a complete thought; he wondered if he should be alarmed, but he was too tired and dazed to fight the comfort he was feeling through those hands. He recognized his torso was being pushed gently into the water stream as fingers languorously rinsed out his hair, then caressed his cheeks, wiping any remaining soap from his face.

Her voice—_Kara's voice_—resonated in his right ear, sounding strangely strong and calm. "Shhhhh, Apollo, Shhhh. I know it hurts, my love—just a little more to go now." He was stunned; hadn't he said the same words to her just a few minutes earlier? Was Kara really alert and in this moment? He dared to lean back further, looking up at her in the chair. She gazed straight into his eyes, cupping his face with her hands, pushing hair off his forehead. Kara wasn't smiling, but her stare was steady and relaxed, her eyes less foggy. Smoothly, she placed her palms behind his head and shoulders, gently guiding him to sit upright again. At last she scooted slightly back in the chair, leaning her head against the wall.

Apollo, feeling more grounded and contained, grabbed the cloth on the floor of the stall, wiping the areas of the wound he could reach. The rough, raw edges were cleaned, though he knew there was dirt deeper into the wound cavity; he decided he wasn't going to try to reach in further, or he might pass out. Lee swiped the rest of his body quickly. The water was beginning to change to a tepid warmth, and he realized Kara was probably cold, sitting there waiting.

Counting backwards from ten to keep his mind focused, Lee leaned the right side of his body against the stall wall, allowing himself room to swing the left leg backward and under him, then transfer weight to the left knee to re-arrange the other leg in a similar fashion. Falling forward, he planted his arms to the sides. On his hands and knees, he slowly migrated in a one-hundred eighty degree turn until his left shoulder was against the stall wall. Using the wall for support, he began the tricky process of lifting his body up. Successful at last, he breathed heavily into the wall, wishing he could stop feeling so lightheaded.

Looking towards Kara, he saw her stand up too, and wordlessly she reached her right arm around his waist so her shoulder could support him as he made his way out of the stall. Unbidden, his skin tingled, aware of her proximity. Then pain shot through his right side again, and he focused on what it was going to take to get back to the cots only a few feet away.

Apparently spotting the folded towels in a box on the floor, Kara moved slightly ahead to pick up two of them. She handed one to Lee and also began to dry herself. Lee hobbled over to the cot where he'd emptied part of the backpack; he pulled out a fresh set of clothes for each of them. It quickly became obvious both would need assistance dressing. Without preface, they stood very close to each other and silently intertwined arms and legs to pull on tops and bottoms.

Soft breathing seemed to fill the room with sound, and Lee became sensitized, once again, to Kara's nearness. He resisted the urge to pull her in his arms and finally feel the warmth of her presence, knowing he was likely to unnerve her if he did. Somehow, Kara's outer awareness was making delicate progress; he owed it to both of them to continue breathing life into these initial sparks of self-possession.

Sinking onto the same cot as Kara, Lee grabbed the med kit and opened it wide. Looking at Kara for a long moment, he finally cleared his throat and said quietly, "I'd like to give you some morpha, Kara, for your arm and some of the other injuries you've sustained—okay?" She nodded, her eyes never leaving his, and he pushed the needle into her good right shoulder. Afterward, he pulled out some protein bars and bottled water. Kara took the food appreciatively; _she seems hungry at least_, Lee thought, worried about her emaciated appearance.

Apollo allowed himself to concentrate on own needs for a moment, injecting morpha into his shoulder before eating the same rations. Still hungry and feeling weak from so much exertion over the last nearly sixty hours, he decided to eat a third protein bar, and offered another to her as well. She took it and they both focused a little longer on filling their stomachs.

With a sigh of contentment, Lee remembered Kat's words about the simple things that made a person grateful for being alive, and he smiled for a moment, allowing himself to wonder how she was faring. It was hard to think about that right now, wondering how the fleet was surviving in the aftermath of the rescue and fighting, how his friends were managing and how his dad was coping.

Lee allowed himself to look back at Kara's face and realized she had been studying the emotions flitting across his features. A different ache gripped him when he stared into her eyes, because although she seemed more aware, he could tell she was still far from returning to herself. He could only hope she remained enough in her current frame of mind to walk of her own accord when they headed out to the raptor in a few hours. Lee was pretty sure his body wouldn't be strong enough to lug her further.

That thought led him to look down at chrono—they needed to get to sleep soon. He set his alarm timer for five and a half hours.

"I need to properly bandage your arm now, Kara, and then we can rest for a little while," he said as he pulled gauze, tape, and scissors out of the med kit, then changed sides on her cot. "Do you need another shot of morpha?"

She shook her head no, so he pulled out a different injection and announced "antibiotic" before pushing the meds into her arm. He decided a local anesthetic might be the best option to help with any throbbing or other discomfort at the injury site, in case the morpha wore off too soon; waving the next injection tube, he said "local numbing." He inserted one needle near the right side of the injury, then pulled out a final injection and inserted another needle on the left side. She wouldn't be able to use the arm much now, but at least she might be able to sleep and handle the exertion later too.

With a long sigh, he turned and pulled up his pants leg, deciding he was going to have to apply the same logic to his own injuries. Besides his serious chemical burn, the muscle tear in his shoulder wasn't giving him much peace either. The morpha had helped dull the worst of the pain, but he wouldn't be able to sleep now, or likely walk later, if he couldn't manage to get ahead of the throbbing intensity wracking his body in waves.

Apollo reasoned if used several local shots now, he likely wouldn't be able to feel his foot or most of his right leg afterward, but he would be able to put enough weight on it to push through the walking. He could avoid additional doses of morpha for the time being. It was more dangerous, he figured, to be in a mental drug fog than it was to risk permanent damage to his leg, given the givens. The last thought made him snort a laugh; everything was so frakking upside down.

Kara raised an eyebrow at the sound of Apollo's truncated laughter, seemingly wanting to know what was amusing to him. He couldn't explain it, though, so he didn't try. "Kara," he said gently, "why don't you try to close your eyes and sleep now? We'll rest for about 5 hours, and then hike to the raptor. That'll take another two or three hours, depending on how we're both doing."

Lee tried not to jump out of his skin at the sound of her voice ringing out in response. "Aren't you going to sleep too, Apollo? You seem to need it…" her voice faltered.

With a smile, he answered her. "Yeah, believe me, I'm planning on sleeping. But first—" here he stood up, backpack in hand—"I need to secure the entrance, just in case." He watched Kara nod and shift her weight to lie prone on the cot.

Eying the room for blankets, Lee located two on a nearby pallet. Setting the bag down for a moment, he hobbled over, tossing the covers towards Kara. She felt the small whoosh of air and used her good right arm to reach for the blanket nearest her. As soon as she'd draped herself, Apollo watched her eyes drift shut.

Satisfied Kara would sleep, Lee made his way back to the bag and pulled out a small box, some wiring, a trigger, and pliers. With precise moves, he pulled an explosive putty material out of the box, embedded the wire and trigger, and shuffled to The Cellar's bottom steps. Winding the wire ends around the rough wood posts that stood in for a railing at the bottom, he stepped back to inspect his handiwork. It would have been much better to place the bomb mechanism at the top of the staircase, but there was nothing up there to secure it to; he'd have to be satisfied with this arrangement. It would stop intruders—they didn't need more.

Wearily, Lee made his way back to the cots. After a moment's pause, looking between the stairs and their location in the room, he opted to pull Kara's cot and his own ten feet further away from the entrance. Sinking his body fully into the rough canvas beside Kara's bed, he pulled a blanket around him and passed out, relieved to hear her breathing so close by. Both succumbed to a deep sleep without dreaming, letting a momentary peace settle over them.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, Day Three, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus ten hours to planned mission end.**_

Dualla was briefing the available RSG members on mission progress. They were connected via wireless; there was too much risk involved in attempting an in-person meeting. She explained ninety-seven percent of the New Caprican settlers were relocated back into space; the other three percent remained behind to support the reclamation efforts.

For the majority of refugees, the reintegration process, though frustrating, was taking shape within the guidelines Commander Adama and the RSG had established. More people ended up on Pegasus and Galactica than originally intended, primarily because of malfunctions that threatened the long-term viability of some of the previously grounded New Caprica transports. The severe winter had caused damage not easily detected ahead of time. The good news: a full eighty percent of these vessels could be repaired and re-launched. The bad news: it would take four to six weeks to complete the work.

Once the battlestars reunited with the larger fleet again, Dualla had mapped out a reassignment plan for nearly half of these refugees. She recommended completing the transfers before they plotted the next jump, otherwise the ongoing strain on battestar resources could prove dangerous for the Colonials as a whole. Mechanics had volunteered extra hours to begin implementing the repairs, though viper and raptor work had to take priority.

The reclamation activities on planet were in full swing at this point. Dualla didn't have firm totals, but significant pieces of equipment, in addition to living items, medical supplies, munitions, food stuffs, and water had been recovered. Even though the original plan called for half of these materials to end up on Galactica, The RSG agreed it made more sense to store as much as possible on the Pegasus, simplifying the reintegration process when the civilian ships were restored to working order.

The Cylons on the planet continued sniper attacks and incursions, but seemed peculiarly inactive. The approximately 5,000 centurions remaining intact had been deployed to defend the Headquarters, where several thousand bio-Cylons were thought to be holed up. Most of the Colonial military on the ground provided defense for the Detention Center; the absence of Cylon attacks in the past twenty-four hours suggested they were concentrating their efforts on hacking through the computer firewalls Sharon had in place, rather than planning another physical storming of the Control Room.

In the past eight hours, as Helo and Tigh had witnessed first-hand, the bio-Cylons seemed to be sending more transports into orbit. Dualla speculated they were anticipating a breakthrough soon, regaining the ability to call other basestars to their location. The humans didn't have long to finish operations and leave the area.

At this point in the briefing, Helo spoke.

"I received the transmission from Commander Adama. Captain Kara Thrace has been located and extracted from the Cylon compound. They're expected back in ten hours."

A pall fell over the participants; even without visuals, the tension transmitted through the wires.

Tigh—never one to leave tension hanging when expression was better—provided a terse summation of the others' thoughts. "Captain Agathon, as we all understand, we could finish up shop and get the frak out of here in another three, maybe four hours. We didn't plan and sacrifice so much to get caught with our pants down at the last minute because Apollo decides he has to play the godsdamn hero for Starbuck!"

Helo knew reasoning wasn't an option here. Despite Lee's display of prophecy regarding the Eye of Jupiter, few would be ready to accept he was the Colonization Leader of the scriptures. No one was aware of the messages from the Priestess, so they couldn't understand how important Kara was to future events. If there wasn't a plausible explanation for Lee's apparent dereliction of duty, the best recourse was to say as little as possible until they made it back.

"Colonel, I appreciate your frustration. Everyone's shock and concern. We were, however, hardly left in the lurch. Authority was transferred to me; there's been no break in command. Lee Adama's plans—as you all witnessed—have been detailed, thorough, and consistently on target. We should consider this another component in the overall strategy. The Commander and Captain Thrace will arrive in ten hours."

Recognizing there wasn't really a choice—Tigh wouldn't deny the Old Man his son, not after so much loss—the Colonel didn't say anything more.

Eager to wrap up the conversation, Helo commended Dualla for her efforts, thanked the rest of the RSG, and closed the line.

As Karl moved back into position in front of the dradis, however, fear in his core taunted his own thoughts. Checking in with his wife every hour, Karl knew she was reaching her physical limits. Sharon wouldn't tell him, but he suspected the truth: she had internal injuries as well. Even with Cylon technology, she wasn't able to heal fast enough—the constant drain of energy in manually manipulating the vast computer infrastructure interfered with her normal bio-repair processes. He accepted the importance of Apollo's mission, but asking Karl to possibly sacrifice his own wife, just when he got her back—he wasn't certain he could do that. If Sharon couldn't—wouldn't—make it another ten hours, he'd order her back. Back to him, to their daughter. He'd rather take his chances with the basestars returning over the certainty Sharon would die. They all had to hope Lee and Kara made it out before Karl was forced into an untenable position.

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**Sit Rep: New Caprica, Day Three, Operation Sky Fall. **_**T-minus five hours to planned mission end.**_

Hot pieces of metal pelted Lee's skin as he awoke with a start; the noise of the explosion was deafening. Struggling to comprehend he wasn't dreaming and they were under attack, he anxiously looked towards Kara's bed for signs of movement. She was moaning, so at least Lee believed she was alive. His hand reached down for the backpack he'd placed on the floor between them; the best strategy, to buy them some time, was to take the Cylons out in a group and block the stairs. Lee carefully pulled a grenade out of the bag; it was his last one, so his aim had better be good enough.

Pulling the pin, Lee swung his torso backward and threw the artillery straight into the sea of metal and Cylon faces poised on the upper steps, all still stunned from the flying shrapnel and smoke that had originally greeted them. Lee pulled the bag up onto Kara's cot, then covered her with his body as he waited for the grenade to activate.

A very loud boom, followed by intense heat, shaking walls, and a falling ceiling all hit his senses—he was overwhelmed and honestly petrified. Realizing his ears were ringing, Lee tried to shake off the debris covering him and Kara, then squinted into the darkness—the lights were destroyed. He began coughing and fought to get his hand into the rucksack's side compartment. His fingers gripped the small flashlight and he turned it on quickly, searching to determine where the enemy might be.

With some amazement and consternation, Apollo tried to process the scene around him. A large barrier of rocks and dirt blocked the room where the stairs had been. No Cylons would be getting to them any time soon, but neither would he and Kara be escaping, at least not through that path. A dead Leoben model was sprawled across the floor near the debris wall; centurion parts were blown all over the room. Along the other wall, body akimbo, was a bio-model Lee hadn't seen before. The lifeless male had a large piece of shrapnel embedded in his forehead.

A split second after he turned away from the second Cylon, an odd sensation of recognition forced Apollo to take a second look. The light traced the man's features, and something in the back of Lee's mind kept teasing him, just beneath the surface of his conscious awareness. _Dark skin, strong face, powerful frame…No. That can't be possible. It simply defied…_Lee didn't want to accept what was dawning on him, but it had to be true. _Those frakkers. They've been with us for so long, longer than we ever could've imagined_.

Apollo shuddered, understanding all the Cylons had cost him, from the beginning. From Eos. _Because of Resurgere_. The torture, the post-traumatic stress, the incident that had driven him from Kara—all caused by one frakkin' _machine_.

A frantic thought caused his heart to skip a beat. If this model was Resurgere, then the Cylons had known about the EMP weapon. Could they have developed a counter-measure? After a few seconds of panic, Lee reassured himself it wasn't likely. It was Apollo himself who'd destroyed their bases; the Aias Group had never managed to get its hands on the prototype. Resurgere's tape of the destruction ended up in Colonial possession, and Lee personally killed the captain during his escape.

Which left the question of resurrection. _Gods… _According to Sharon, the ships had to be within a certain distance for the downloading to occur. Considering how deep into charted space the Eos had been, with the Cylons staying under the radar at that time, the Resurgere model probably didn't have the option.

With a prolonged sigh, Lee took another flashlight sweep of the room before turning his attentions to Kara. Convinced they were alone, if not exactly safe, Lee moved over her, grateful to hear her shifting around beneath the blanket. Carefully lifting the material and debris away, he used the flashlight to search for any new injuries. Apparently his body had shielded her from the worst of the explosions; nothing, though, could protect her from the psychological impact. As Kara sat up, she was shaking badly, her teeth chattering loudly; shock was rapidly setting in. The eyes were completely blank again. He put his hands firmly around her shoulders, and he shook her once, hard.

"Kara!" He swallowed and tried again. "Kara. It's me, Apollo. Look at me—come on, that's good—look at me. You're with Apollo—nothing can happen to you. Stay focused on my voice, Kara; concentrate. Don't look at anything else; keep your eyes right with mine." _Gods, that sounds so anemic; how can I reach her again_?

Something clicked. She stared at him briefly, murmuring the word "Apollo." Another phrase, one she'd said earlier in the shower, was repeated: "…breath of life."

He could tell Kara wasn't out of the woods yet, but he had hope he might bring her out of the shock now. He needed a way to unlock door, though, connect the pieces in her mind…in a flash of colliding memories, Lee understood what to do. He heard Kara's words and remembered an image from his awakening with Helo as he initiated the Prayer of Colonization.

Lee's hands caressed her face as he leaned in and kissed her. She didn't flinch, didn't moan, didn't speak. He tilted his head up to study her gaze; it was steady. Kara had stopped trembling. Her eyes remained flat, though—still no life in them. Even in the dark, he could tell the difference. Ghosting kisses along her cheek, he let his hands relish the feel of her hair as he moved his lips against her ear. Gently he whispered, "Kara, it's Apollo. Take my breath, come alive again. Please…come back to me."

Tears lingered as he brushed against her cheek, then let his lips touch hers a second time. His own breath hitched as he felt her arms slide around him, light but real. She opened her mouth slightly, and he matched the shape, the moist warmth of her breath mingling with his. Kara leaned into his body, and Lee felt transformed. _Who needed the 'breath of life' more?_

A low, threatening voice penetrated the darkness, causing them both to jump. _Leoben. He must have been waiting for his opportunity_.

"Kara, come to Lee—I need you to help me." In horror, Apollo felt Kara let go of him and begin walking towards that voice.

"Leave her the frak alone!" Apollo's rage coursed hot and tight through him; it was all too much. He was going to make this Cylon pay for everything—for all of it. The torture had to come to an end.

Apollo could see Leoben had managed to somehow prop himself in a sitting position against the wall. His legs appeared to be broken, but it didn't stop Leoben from staring enigmatically at Kara, beckoning her closer.

Holding the light steady to keep an eye on the Cylon at all times, Apollo tried again to figure out the _sway_ this _monster_ had over Kara. She'd crossed the distance to Leoben's position, confusion evident on her face. Lee could see her fingers flexing erratically, head jerking as though her mind was stuttering. The _monster_ spoke.

"Kara, there's a device in my pocket. We can use it to summon help. I want you to reach—"

Apollo wasn't going to listen the manipulator. "Shut up, motherfrakker! You're going to die, Toaster. Permanent death! No resurrection." Apollo was guessing when he said it, knowing there was a good chance he might actually be right. No ships close enough…no download. Just like Resurgere.

He lifted up his gun, ready to simply plug Leoben at close range between his eyes. Apollo took the shooting stance, pinching the flashlight against the barrel; he didn't want his aim to be off due to poor vision.

Kara stepped in front of Leoben to protect him however, shaking Apollo to the core. _What the frak did the Cylon manage to __**do**__ to her? _

Lee tried to connect. "Kara, I don't know how he's influenced you, but—"

"Influenced her?" Leoben laughed. She loves me, Adama. You're nothing to her."

Apollo was about to say more, but Leoben cut him off. "Kara, tell him how you feel about me. Tell him." The Cylon's tone was calm and oddly pitched; Apollo suspected it was his 'sweet' voice, though it carried an undercurrent of menace that even Apollo found intimidating.

He stood aghast as she followed the order. "Kara loves Lee…" she tensed, pointing at Apollo's gun. "I won't let you hurt him. I love Lee," she repeated.

_What insanity was this? What insanity WAS THIS? _ Lee fought the temptation to let madness set into his own mind—he couldn't make any sense out of the situation, out of her words, and he knew they were damned well running down the clock. He either had to figure out a way to save her and himself, or he would just need to take his own life, right then and there. There wasn't going to be a life without her, and he felt a clammy fear deep in his chest telling him she might really be gone already, lost in the murky mental chaos Leoben had subjected her to. Stubbornly, his will won out. He couldn't let it all end this way—let _them_ end this way.

Leoben's words again interrupted Lee's thoughts. "The great Apollo—named falsely after a god. You know you don't have a grand destiny, right? You aren't mentioned in the scriptures at all. Why do you cling to the person who _is_ part of God's plan? Let her go, Apollo. Even the love of her life, Sam, didn't register deeply enough with her, in the end. It's my name she whispers in her dreams, my name she calls when I'm inside her, my name…it is always Lee for Leoben, a special name for the one closest to her."

The Cylon's words came out rushed and frantically paced. To Apollo, the "thing" seemed anxious, even though he clearly wanted to make a point. _The kiss…it made the monster jealous. That's why he wanted to draw Kara away._

Lee toiled with his thoughts, trying to pin them down. _"Tactical focus, damnit!"_ he muttered to himself. _Tactical focus. _The last sentence the Cylon had uttered...maybe that was the clue to the enemy's weakness.

The frakker was proud, as though he had won Kara in a contest among males. He was letting his ego do the talking. _And what do proud people do when the ego's talking? They hear what they want to hear, assume that what they want is what they'll get._

Leoben was obsessed with Kara; Sharon had told them enough to make that evident. What were those last words he'd just spoken? "…it's always Lee for Leoben, a special name for the one closest to her." _Lee as a nickname for Leoben? Or Lee as Apollo's own name, with an obsessed Cylon making the leap of supposition? _

Karl's words flashed into Apollo's mind at that moment, from weeks ago on the Pegasus: _"…She used to dream about you, most nights, after she was assigned to Galactica. I asked her about it, because I heard her say your name in her sleep a number of times, and I was worried about others overhearing her. It had been going on a long time…." _

A preternatural calm moved through his body suddenly. Kara wasn't lost to him at all. She'd been with him, the real Lee, the whole time, through her dreams. Somehow the monster had tried to strip her of even that…and so she'd clung to Apollo instead. The Cylon hadn't understood how she'd defied him, how she'd left a path for herself to follow to reach the light once more. _Breath of life._

"Kara, I want you to back away from Leoben. Now."

"I won't."

Apollo stepped closer, keeping the gun trained on Leoben as he freed his other hand to reach out for her. "Kara, please listen to me. It's Apollo—you know I'll never lie to you. We exchanged the breath of life, and that's what's real. Just like this." He clasped her hand, letting the warmth envelop her palm. "See—the sunlight always warms everything. Remember what's true, remember why you're connected to Apollo."

He took another step into her, wrapping his arm gently around her waist and guiding them both backward. She didn't resist. "This monster, Leoben, has been playing tricks with your mind for months. I realize it's hard to sort out, Kara, but you've got to recognize what's been happening, how this _thing_ has manipulated you.

"The machine Leoben forced you to call him 'Lee.' The machine thought, when you said that name, you were talking about him, dreaming about him. What he didn't understand is the long history you and I have together, as Lee and Kara. As Apollo and Starbuck. We've sustained a deep bond of love, Kara. That's what you're remembering now. _Breath of life_."

Kara twisted to stare at Apollo, mind spinning; her legs felt strange. She started to fall, and Lee caught her, clasping her upright against his chest. She leaned heavily into his body for a moment, then moved her head to look closely into his eyes, peering into the soul of the man before her.

Leoben was staring at Apollo, too, queasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. Was it possible—had he missed something so essential in his study of Kara? He was certain he _knew _about the men in Kara's life. Kara had married Sam—wasn't that who she'd been connected to before Leoben? That's what humans said marriage meant—how could it be anything else?

Kara let her head fall to Apollo's shoulder, his eyes still possessing her. Those intense blue eyes from her dreams…_Lee_. _Oh gods, it was true, it was real. Lee Adama—Apollo—Lee, __**her**__ Lee. _How had it become so muddled in her mind for such a long time? Why did she think she wanted to call Leoben "Lee"?

_Because Leoben insisted_…because_ the machine_ had beat her senseless after he raped her the first time, telling her she had to call him "Lee" like before, or he would inflict extreme pain. How long had she…gods, her head was going to explode from the chaotic mess swimming behind her eyes.

_Lee, Apollo_—the god who was going to find her and rescue her, breathe life into her again—the man holding her in his arms right now—_Apollo, Lee. _ He was trying to save her, in this moment, and she'd been so confused she hadn't even been able to help him. _I have to help now. _

Kara tried to call out to Lee, using his real name, but strangled over the word. She attempted again, panicking when nausea threatened to overwhelm her. _I can't do it; I can't! It's too revolting…the machine ruined that. _

"Apollo. Apollo, give me the weapon." Lee did as she asked, dropping away from her rapidly tensing body.

"I hope there's some version of eternal suffering for _machines_, Leoben," Kara said with calculation. She shot him directly in the crotch. "For my own satisfaction, this'll have to do."

The agony on his face brought a dark fulfillment to hers. She put another round into Leoben's chest. The machine meant to remain silent and stoic through the onslaught, but pain ripped the screams from his throat. Kara pressed her foot hard between his legs, eyes burning into him as Leoben writhed in abject misery.

Leaving her foot in place, applying more pressure, she knelt down to his level, the barrel of the weapon now pressed against his temple, her arm matching the wildly jerking movements of his head. "_This_ time, motherfrakker, you _will _die, and all of your twisted individual obsession goes with you." Kara spat in his face. "Die knowing you are defeated. Forgotten. Erased." The third round was released from the chamber.

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**End of Part C:** Please move to** Part D**

**Reviews appreciated.**


	17. Ch 12D: Patterns in the Chaos Part D

Tyrol frantically yelled commands to the remaining Resistance fighters, pushing them to move faster in loading the last cargo t

**Event Horizon Chapter 12: Patterns in the Chaos—Part D**

Tyrol frantically yelled commands to the remaining Resistance fighters, pushing them to move faster in loading the last cargo transports. He scanned the immediate vicinity, noting the equipment and materials left to haul into the ships. _"This will take another frakkin' four hours,"_ Galen muttered to himself as he smacked his hands together to bring some sensation back into his fingers. He wasn't going to miss the endless winter of this barren place. Space would feel warm by comparison.

Sam walked up behind him, taking in the work left to do as well. "It's gonna feel damned good to be somewhere—anywhere—more hospitable than this hellhole." He clapped Tyrol on the back. "Ready to go back to Galactica?"

"Absofrakkin'lutely. I figure we've got another few hours to go, though, to get this crap over with." Tyrol shook his head. "I guess I understand the need to salvage as much as we can for the fleet in the days ahead, but to tell you the truth, I think we're pushing our godsdamned luck. We got everybody off the planet; we should just get the frak out of here."

The anger in Sam's face took Galen by surprise. "What's that look about?"

"Haven't you heard? The almighty Apollo, already savior of the human race, decided that wasn't enough for the day. He had to go add 'rescuing Starbuck' to the list. Commander Adama decided_ he_ would be _personally _responsible for _my wife_."

"What? I don't…are you saying Adama—Lee Adama—is here, planet-side? He left in the middle of—" Galen couldn't accept what Sam was saying.

"Yep. It was _my_ responsibility, damnit,_ my_ frakkin' mission to _bring Kara home_. After everything I've been through all these months, sick with worry about her, fighting the urge every day to go out and storm the Detention Center—" Sam choked on the anguish and rage in his words.

Tyrol turned to his friend. "Gods, Sam. I wish I knew something helpful to say." He was quiet for a moment, then continued. "But there's two things I'm certain of: one, Apollo _will_ bring her back—to you, her husband; and two, you've been central to this operation. I know you wanted to find Kara, but your role, the way you beat the Toasters back, is the reason she'll actually make it home. Sam, you can't possibly doubt how critical your actions have been to this rescue mission. You're a hero, and Kara's gonna be so proud when she learns what you've done."

Anders let out a long exhalation of breath, substantial enough in the cold air to momentarily obscure his face in the fog from it. "I just hope she's okay, Galen. That Leoben didn't…that she was able to hold onto herself. These Cylons have been such sick bastards." His voice was muted, emotion tingeing every word.

"I hope so too, Sam. Believe me. We're gonna need Starbuck to move forward from all of this."

Galen went to say something else, but the sight of two Resistance fighters approaching a specific ship brought his focus quickly to other urgent tasks.

"_Frak!"_ he swore in a whisper. Before Sam could find out what Tyrol was responding to, Tyrol began running toward a specific Colonial vessel in the distance.

Puzzled, but still lost in his own thoughts, Sam decided he'd trek over to the main New Caprica command and offer his help there.

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The frigid air made exertion difficult, and Tyrol's chest was heaving by the time he reached the ship where the two Resistance fighters had been spotted. The hatch was open; Galen raced up the steep ramp and nearly threw himself into the interior of the ship. The fighters, both men, looked up with surprise.

"Chief! What's going on?" The first fighter asked.

Tyrol tried to slow his breathing before talking, so he wouldn't hyperventilate. "I explained to the Marine Sergeant before—no one's to enter this ship without my express order. I need you to leave."

The second fighter stood up straighter and stepped close to Tyrol's face. "Well, Chief, we're already here…what's the big deal?"

"The big _deal_ is that I've ordered you to _leave_, and if you _don't _follow that order immediately, I will_ take you down_ and make sure your first stop back with the fleet is in the brig." Galen's eyes were fixed hard on the fighter's face.

"Okay, okay, Chief, we're going. We just came to drop off some of the food supplies that every transport's supposed to carry by its last take-off. Take it easy, okay?" Both fighters looked a little unnerved by the whole exchange. They stepped out of the vessel and walked briskly away.

Tyrol turned to the door panel and made sure the hatch closed. He moved up into the pilot section and adjusted the temperature controls, cursing the men for leaving the interior exposed to the cold for so long. Finally, he stepped into the rear section of the transport—it was a civilian ship model, not a raptor—and pressed a sequence into the floor keypad. A hinged door lifted as the sound of hydraulics could be heard, downward steps sliding slowly into view.

Descending, Galen called out to Boomer and Caprica. The two Cylon women appeared from the shadows in the cargo hold, hunched over. The ceiling was only about five feet high; Caprica was close to walking on her knees. As Galen got a better look at them, his eyes adjusting to the light, he could see their teeth were chattering.

"I'm sorry about that; somehow two Resistance fighters missed the message to stay the frak away. Come into the main cabin and get warm." He moved up the steps, then helped them out.

"How soon before we leave, Chief?" Boomer had easily picked up the habit of calling Galen by his rank again; despite the strangeness of it, he hadn't told her to stop.

"Another four or five hours. There's still a lot of material to move in the reclamation efforts."

Caprica spoke up. "Tell your people they need to hurry. I can tell…the others are close to making contact with a basestar." Her face was tense with concern.

"You can _tell_? Is that some sick Cylon joke about intuition or something? I thought you had to be plugged into a computer—"

Caprica swiveled her head towards Boomer. "Is he always so abrasive?"

Boomer signaled Caprica to keep quiet. "I know this is all new to you, Galen. When there are large groups of us within a certain vicinity—say a two-hundred mile radius—we pick up on signals from one another. It's like a "ghost network"—information carried electromagnetically.

"The information transfers are incomplete, so we get glimpses of things…impressions. I've been picking up the same thing Caprica is; there's—it's an energy of anticipation. Images of rerouted circuitry, messages ready to be sent. There will be Cylon ships arriving soon. Are you seeing Cylon transports taking off, moving into orbit?"

Tyrol nodded, the shock on his face evident. "Should we have…the reclamation mission has been the focus, so we haven't been wasting ammo taking the transports out. Was that a mistake?"

"I don't know," Caprica commented. "They can't accomplish anything in orbit, and when the basestars arrive, the Colonials will have to focus on the direct attacks. It's probably wiser that your Commander didn't focus on revenge, bombing the headquarters or the transports. Many Cylons would have died without resurrecting, and the rage engendered in that would be devastating for the humans."

Tyrol looked at Caprica, incredulous. "Frak me. _More_ _devastating_ than destroying all of the Colonies? More rage than nuking us into extinction, hanging our wives and children in public, starving us?" He was becoming extremely agitated. Boomer watched as Galen's fists clenched; he was clearly ready to strike Caprica.

Stepping in between, breaking their eye contact, Boomer carefully touched Galen's arm. She glanced back at Caprica, giving her a pointed glare. "Caprica…her model is a bit more detached. She's not like the other Sixes, but she's still developing skills like _contextual_ _sensitivity_. I…_we_ apologize. For so many things, Galen…" Boomer fell silent. Galen realized she was becoming emotional; tears formed in her eyes.

He was tempted to say more—or perhaps screaming would have been the likely description—but something stopped him. So much desolation, over so many months; it wasn't time to rehash all of the losses yet. That would come later. Tyrol was fully aware these Cylons _would not_ be trusted by the humans. A twenty-four hour guard would be necessary on Pegasus, even in the prison cells, and still the two might not survive the_ rage_ directed at_ them_. As that thought passed through, Galen's stomach lurched: what was the difference between Cylons and humans if rage led both races to take the same actions? He shook his head, shoulders slumping.

"There's food in the boxes just brought aboard; see what you can find. I'm pretty sure there's water, in bottles, along the bottom." Tyrol refastened his coat and put his gloves back on.

Facing the hatch, Tyrol tilted his head to the side, so the two could hear him with his back turned. "Gotta get back out there, or I'll be missed. Lock the hatch this time, and you can stay in the main cabin—just don't be seen through the portals. If I were you, I'd rest. I can get you as far as Pegasus, but there's no way to tell how you'll be treated after they realize who and what you are. I can't protect you; don't expect any grand gestures from me."

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**Sit Rep: New Caprica, T-Minus Four Hours and Counting to **_**Mission Accomplished**_** for Operation Sky Fall (Day Three)**

As soon as Lee confirmed the Leoben model was dead, he grabbed Kara's hand and the rucksack, charging into The Cellar communications room. As he suspected, the electricity was out here too; no way to contact the Pegasus to let Helo know why they'd been delayed in heading back to safety. Lee's chest tightened; he was aware how Karl must be feeling by now, wanting to get Sharon off this rock, and Lee wasn't so self-absorbed he couldn't imagine her exhaustion by this point. If it was anywhere close to the mind-numbing weariness Lee was living through himself, he could imagine hers was equally daunting, equally agonizing.

Shining the flashlight around the room, Apollo studied each wall in turn, then began examining the ceiling. He was looking for the tell-tale signs of tunneling work.

If Lee knew anything about military strategy, it was that a team always created more than one route for ingress and egress. Between his father and Sharon, Apollo had to believe they'd covered their bases—another exit had to be here, somehow.

Kara studied the walls and ceiling too as the light swept over each area, apparently realizing Apollo's thoughts. "Apollo—over in that corner—do you see how the boxes are stacked up?"

Lee found himself holding his breath. He tried to exhale. _She just responded like a normal person…was she really coming back into herself—her whole self? _

Clearing his throat, knowing he needed to respond naturally, Lee croaked out a "yes" as he held the light in the direction Kara was pointing. They both made their way to that section of the room, carefully touching and re-examining a particular patch of wall and ceiling.

"There! I see it—a wooden insert above." Kara held her hand out expectantly; Lee handed her the flashlight. He let out a small whoop as he spotted the square outline in the ceiling.

Nervously, Apollo asked "Can you check it out? I'm going to have trouble navigating." He hated to ask, but the leg was throbbing again. Lee was alarmingly dizzy and unbalanced.

Kara frowned in concern, looking at Lee's leg for a long moment. "No problem," she said lightly, springing up boxes to the correct spot. Her arm was very sore, but she could grip things; most of the local anesthetic had worn off, allowing the use of both hands for balance and climbing.

Lee tossed the razor knife to her so Kara could pry the insert out of the ceiling. After a slight hesitation, he decided to swing the gun up too; there was no way to know if Cylons were waiting above to capture them as they emerged. She tucked the weapon into her pants at the small of her back.

Slipping the wood easily away from the encasement, Kara handed the square piece down to Lee, then used her flashlight to glimpse into the space above. Metal rungs could be seen embedded along one side of the vertical tunnel. As far as she could view, the footholds in the shaft were placed in a straight line. "No branching, Apollo. Looks like a clean shot up. I see…I can make out a second trap door at the top, maybe thirty feet from here."

Kara outstretched her right hand to help Apollo navigate the boxes to the entrance point. He balked however, fear beginning to erode his confidence in his over-tired state. _How's she going to pull herself up with that bad arm? Can I make it over an unknown number of rungs with a barely functioning right leg? _

Kara studied Apollo's face, memories returning in flashes. She suddenly recognized the expression he held was one of anxiety, magnified by the physical ordeal of the last hours. Apollo was struggling to think through the pain, and worried he wouldn't be able to traverse the passage. Remembering the sensation of minutes before, understanding she hadn't been mentally present enough to help him until this juncture, Kara realized she had to do something definitive. She had to convince Apollo he could rely on her support the rest of the way.

"Apollo." She stretched her hand further downward. "Apollo, _we'll get there_. I know you planned this rescue and made it happen. Now Sta..Starbuck's here, ready to finish things. Let's get the frak off this rock, before the Cylons manage to blow the entire planet up, and us along with it." Kara gave him a grin. It felt as unnatural as mentioning her callsign aloud had been; all the words she spoke seemed like ash on her tongue. Kara understood, though, she had to sound more like the person Apollo remembered if she was going to convince him to forge ahead.

She was right; he smiled in return, a warmth flickering in his eyes again. Apollo grabbed her hand and used the strength of her arm for balance as he walked across the boxes. Once he was standing next to her, she placed the flashlight in her teeth and started climbing.

Lee followed closely, carrying the backpack. They moved without talking. Kara could tell, by Apollo's uneven breathing, the man was fighting off a lot of pain, and she wished there were an easier way out of this mess. Trudging on, she finally reached the top of the shaft and hooked her right arm around the last rung so she could sweep the light around with her left hand, examining the last step to freedom.

It appeared to be a simple trap door, one pushed up with minimal effort. In a low voice, Kara asked Apollo to regulate his breathing as much as he could manage, so they'd hear any voices or footsteps above. He complied, both straining for any sounds of danger. When all seemed quiet for a number of minutes, Lee tapped her foot with his hand, urging her to take the leap of faith. Swinging the door wide in one fluid motion, Kara grabbed the last two rungs before pulling herself into the open air, rolling along the ground as she reached for her gun. No Cylons appeared anywhere.

The shaft had been designed to come out at a different juncture from the school/temple area. They were in an enclosed area, a plateau on a mountain crag. Grabbing Apollo's hands as he tried to push himself past the dirt edge onto the ground, Kara tugged hard to take most of the pressure off his legs. Apollo managed to land and flop onto his back, moaning without awareness of it. The pain was clearly taking its toll, draining him of most of his energy.

Apollo fumbled for something in his jacket pocket, relieved when he grasped the stim pill. He then pushed himself up on his elbows to slide the backpack off and yank out a water canteen. He had to wash the dust out of his throat—it was only adding to his misery.

He offered the canteen to Kara, who gratefully took several swigs before handing it back. She saw he was quite pale and asked, "are there any more protein bars in your magic bag? I think you need to eat something Apollo, honestly."

Lee looked at her, somehow startled yet again by the actual sound of her voice. He nodded in answer and pulled out two rations. They ate quickly; so much time had been lost, and a sense of dread hung in the air. Something darkly final was about to happen. They couldn't move fast enough.

Standing up, Lee gave himself another shot of the local anesthetic at the leg wound, then an antibiotic injection. He walked over to Kara, ready to numb her arm again, but she stopped him. "I need to be able to shoot, Apollo—I'm not sure that should be your job today." He said nothing, just pulled out another antibiotic injection and handed it to her.

Looking around, Lee pulled out the map to share with Kara, pointing out the path back to the raptor. It seemed to take a lot of energy to talk right now, and Lee was thankful Kara was able to follow along without words. _ It's been a long time since they'd worked side by side…_he couldn't finish his thought, or tears might well up, and he could ill afford that exertion either.

Recognizing the terrain was going to be difficult for Apollo, Kara kept her arm around him as they made their way down the crag, ensuring he kept his balance. At the base, they began the trek itself, Kara taking care to match her pacing to Apollo's walk.

After two hours of hiking, Apollo's leg started protesting in earnest at the treatment, despite the numbing. His hip was making a grinding sound every time he swung his right leg around, and twice he nearly fell. They still had three miles to go. Kara wrapped her left arm around Apollo's back again, letting him lean into her when he used his right leg, her body taking on most of his weight.

Another ninety minutes passed before they spotted the raptor, but they reached the goal without any further obstacles. Lee pulled the launch key case out from his pants, handing it to Kara. As she handled the key insertion, Apollo awkwardly grappled with the skid anchors to remove them. That task complete, he punched the keypad for the hatch to open.

Kara followed him quickly into the raptor and shook her head when he went to sit in the pilot's seat. "You're too exhausted, Apollo. I want you to use a morpha injection—right now. You're already in a lot of pain; this ride is probably going to be bumpy, and we don't need you passing out."

She took his hand and helped him get situated in the co-pilot's chair, fastening the flight straps around him. Kara found the morpha shot and administered it before pulling a blanket out of the metal storage bin underneath the seat, tucking it gently around him. He was physically going into shock—she could see his body shaking and his eyes becoming glassy and unfocused.

Leaning over him, she whispered the words from her first moments of awareness in The Cellar: "I know, my love, I know it hurts. Just a little more to go." She placed a brief kiss to his forehead before sinking into the pilot's seat. Buckled in, her fingers danced along the buttons and switches, motor memory taking over. The engines roared to life, and she guided the raptor into the outer atmosphere of the planet.

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Sam brought a battalion of twenty Special Forces Marines with him to break through the remaining centurion siege line around the Detention Center. A Resistance fighter was at the expected entrance, over-riding the security measures to let the team in.

"Glad to see you. How's everyone holding up?" Sam asked.

"Ready to leave and never look back, Anders."

"That's why we're here. Round up all of the soldiers, have them meet at the east entrance in ten. I'll explain our exit strategy when I get there."

The Resistance fighter nodded. "Where are you headed now?"

"To retrieve Lieutenant Agathon." Sam took off down the corridor as soon as he finished the words, the sound of the Marines' boots echoing in the hall.

Three minutes later, Sam arrived at the Control Room. Speaking the necessary security phrases, the door opened. A very worried Sergeant Kitridge greeted them.

"Gods, how is she? Is it that bad?" Sam rushed over to Sharon's side. She was completely draped over the computer conduit table; her hand, raw and red, was still submerged in the viscous fluid. He could hear her muttering, words he struggled to make out, and as he went to gently grab her waist, Sam realized she was shaking badly.

"What the frak—Kitridge, she should have been pulled outta here hours ago! Why didn't anyone—"

"She ordered me to keep her deteriorating condition a secret, Sir."

Sharon's voice was barely audible as she addressed the group. "I did make that order, Sam. It looks worse than it is, and we had to keep the basestars at bay, give Apollo time to reach her, reach Starbuck."

Something twisted in Sam's chest at those two names being spoken together aloud; he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Athena, your husband will have my head for letting things get this bad. Come on—we're taking you home." He placed his arms to lead her away from the table, but she wouldn't stand up or let go. Silently signaling the Sergeant to move around to the other side, Sam scooped Sharon into his arms as the other man pried her body from the table edges.

Sharon moaned as Sam cradled her; without inspecting her further, he immediately gave her a shot of morpha. Gradually going limp in his arms, Sharon was laid on the floor unconscious. Sam examined her injuries, swearing repeatedly.

"How much blood did she lose, Kitridge?"

The man shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Enough to need a transfusion. I gave her two bags of plasma, but—"

"Well, it was better than nothing. The Agathons are stubbon; not much else you could have done."

Kitridge looked relieved. "Yes, Sir."

"Help me re-bandage these wounds, quickly. The clock's running out fast now, and we still have to make it to our ride out of here." The two men set to work on dressing the injuries.

Ready to go, Sam contacted Helo on Pegasus.

"Helo, I've got her. Expect company out there; we'll try to reach Pegasus before that happens."

"Understood, Anders. Make sure you all get out of that building. Pegasus Actual out."

Ten minutes afterward, a group of nearly fifty Colonials stood at the east door. A quick glance at the screens in the Control Room had revealed the centurions were leaving the area; Sam expected the egress route to be fairly stable, at least until they tried to cross the final distance to the transport.

"Where're all the Toasters?" one of the soldiers asked.

"The jamming's stopped; they know reinforcements are on the way. We need to high-tail it to the ship. March out and head towards the center of Colonial Command. Our transport's fired up and waiting."

The team made rapid progress through the fields, though snow was beginning to fall. Sam hadn't seen any weather reports in twenty-four hours; he had to hope any storms would hold off for another thirty minutes, enough time for all remaining ships to make the intra-atmosphere jumps safely. Only FTL-capable vessels had been allowed to remain on the planet until the end.

Sam had offered to stay behind a few minutes, be one of the last people to leave, but Helo had insisted he come back with Sharon. After these many months, working so hard to protect the settlers, it felt strange to take off while any human still stood on New Caprican ground.

As Sam helped position Sharon in a gurney anchored to the floor of the ship, strapping her in with blankets wrapped tightly around her body, it seemed as though he was outside himself, observing the action in slow-motion. Gazing out a portal, the vessel vibrating loudly, he caught the last glimpses of ever-present snow, just as the transport FTL drives kicked in, hurtling them into the blackness of space once more.

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The urgent calls coming through the wireless alerted Tyrol it was time to go. He saw people scrambling everywhere to make it on remaining raptors and larger transports. In another five minutes, every human would be off New Caprica for good. _Almost everyone_…Galen couldn't help but wonder if Apollo and Starbuck had made it. There was no time to ask, though; two basestars had already arrived. The Colonial ships would have to come out of FTL very close to the battlestars to have artillery cover and immediate access to the landing bays.

Reaching his own transport, Galen anxiously keyed in the hatch release code. Running along the ramp while it was still descending, he gestured for Boomer to take the pilot's seat as he slid into the co-pilot's slot. Caprica buckled herself into a third chair, listening to the sound of the hatch locking back into place.

It had taken some doing to shuffle the pilot assignments so the others would realize Tyrol didn't have one assigned. He couldn't think of another way to get the Cylon defectors to the battlestar; it wasn't safe for any biological life form to travel in those cargo holds, and at least Boomer knew how to fly the ship.

"I'll do the talking, okay?" Tyrol said reflexively. Boomer shot him a strange look. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Chief," she said with a small grin. He chucked slightly, realizing how simple-minded he sounded. _Man, I really need a good shower and a chance to sleep for twenty-four hours straight._

Firing engines, vibrations, then silence. Moments later, in space, the three could see a fierce battle taking place close to the planet. Galen repeated aloud the commands Boomer whispered to him, and the ship landed firmly within the confines of Pegasus. Home for one, asylum for two. No one knew what might happen next.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus and Galactica, T-plus Fifteen minutes, Final Actions for Operation Skyfall**

Gripping the CIC console table hard, Helo rocked forward as another explosion struck the Pegasus. It wasn't a direct hit, but the shockwaves were causing torsion near the bow of the ship. He shouted orders, trying to keep his voice steady in the midst of so much upheaval.

"Lieutenant, I want Kat on the line now." Helo had to know how it looked out there.

"_Pegasus Actual, this is Kat. Go ahead."_

"Sitrep, Lieutenant. I need numbers, planned flank maneuvers, pilot readiness."

"_It's getting dicey out here. Racetrack's lost twenty birds in the last five minutes; I've lost twenty-seven. But all of the transports have jumped; we're managing to keep the landing bays protected as they come in. _

"_We've…wait. Need to keep an eye on…it's Galactica, Sir. Racetrack just reported one of the big ships came in too hot; there's a fire in Galactica's landing bay Delta. Repeat—fire in Galactica landing bay Delta."_

Helo signaled to a tactical officer to get on the comm with Tigh; they had to make sure the fire was out, or the remaining transports would have to use thrusters to reach the stern landing bays Alpha and Echo.

"Acknowledging last transmission, Kat. Report maneuvers." Helo leaned closer to the speaker, trying to make out her words as the commotion around him seemed to increase.

"_We've got ten transports still to land here, sixteen to land for Galactica. Expect to—Frak! FRAK!!"_

Alarms clanged in the CIC. Helo looked at the dradis; three more basestars had jumped into the area. The battlestars were facing five of the massive Cylon warships. The Colonials were close to taking one of the original two basestars out, but the odds were definitely against them.

"Galactica Actual—Pegasus Actual. There are twenty-eight Colonial vessels still to land. Keep the vipers as cover for the landing bays. Target your aft cannons at the basestar with coordinates in your same grid section."

"Confirmed." Helo could hear the Colonel's orders in the background.

The Pegasus comm officer moved next to Helo's side, leaning in. "Sir, there are twenty-seven ships."

"No, Lieutenant, there are twenty-eight. Commander Adama will make it in time." Helo found himself superstitiously crossing his fingers; they had less than ten minutes to jump to safety.

"Tactical officer: all cannon fire should be directed at the basestar directly threatening Galactica. Fire nuclear weapons at will, based on proximity to Pegasus." Without looking up from the console, Karl began immediately on the next set of instructions.

"Comm officer, patch me through on the red line to Galactica Actual." In a moment, the comm officer signaled the connection. Helo moved into the battle ready room. "Tigh, it's time."

"I expected it was. I'll keep our vipers close to Galactica; we should—"

The noise of explosions came through with enough force to terrify Helo. It took him a second to understand it wasn't the Pegasus; Galactica had been hit. A direct bomb detonation, judging by the violence of the sound.

"Damnit! Report, Galactica! Repeat—Tigh, report!" An overwhelming sense of dread twisted Helo's gut. Wails, screaming, and fragmented orders jumbled together through the open comm line. Staggering into the CIC, Helo saw the horror on everyone's faces. They were all hearing scraps of transmissions, and knew how grave their situation had become.

"Put the red line on speaker, Lieutenant," Helo called out. Sounds of death and decimation continued coming over the wire. And then Karl made out Tigh's voice, just as the distress signal went off. "Abandon ship. Repeat—this is your final order—abandon ship."

The Pegasus CIC, bustling with noise only sixty seconds earlier, was terrifyingly quiet. Helo scanned the room, saw tears in some eyes, trembling hands with others. He steeled himself for the tragic events still to follow. "Tactical, report!"

"One basestar destroyed by nuke, Captain—direct hit into the core. The second one—next to Galactica—our cannons have knocked out most of their systems, including FTL, but they're holding on. A third basestar just jumped away; probably had all of the Cylons from the planet aboard. The other nukes didn't connect; minimal damage to the remaining two."

Helo acknowledged the information. "Good work." He dared to meet the eyes of the officers a second time. They were traumatized, and he had to keep everyone moving ahead.

"All-ships comm, Lieutenant." Helo held the timbre of his voice deep and even, maintaining eye contact with those in the CIC. "This is a ships-wide announcement. Galactica has suffered a fatal blow. The crew has been ordered to abandon ship. We're still in the middle of battle, and we have to help our friends reach safety. The circumstances are difficult, but we planned for this; fulfill your responsibilities at your posts, and the gods will protect us.

"The following orders are issued: after non-essential personnel have exited the vessels, re-deploy all available transports and raptors in launch bays. Vipers are ordered to provide cover for the space rescues and transport landings.

"For anyone in the vicinity of Galactica, be aware that an implosion is imminent. Take all necessary precautions. We will jump in twelve minutes, no exceptions. Make preparations. Pegasus Actual out."

Helo bowed his head after he finished, closing his eyes for a moment to clear his head.

"Sir, I have Colonel Tigh."

"Thank the gods. Put him through." Karl's eyes narrowed; he tensed in anticipation of what he might learn next.

"This is Galactica Actual. The CIC officers are in launch bay Alpha. Of the nine hundred individuals originally aboard, approximately five hundred have made it out." The weighted pause told Helo the Galactica XO didn't expect many more to survive.

"The readings we've managed to get suggest explosions will rip the hull apart in another two minutes at most."

"Then Get the frak out of there, Colonel. That's an order. We're doing everything possible. Don't wait—" the comm signal appeared to go dead.

On the dradis, Helo watched in dismay and sadness as the marker for Galactica dropped from view. The Pegasus shuddered from the after-effects of the explosion. Helo secretly wondered if what they had left would be enough for the Pegasus to make it out in one piece either. _No time for thoughts like that, Agathon! Complete the mission. _He turned to his communications officer.

"Lieutenant, send the signal for these coordinates to all vipers and Colonial ships. They must avoid these coordinates at all costs." Helo punched in the information, then pressed the panel in the CIC console for the operation of the EMP weapon.

"On my mark, begin FTL spooling. Mark. Now open the ships-wide comm again." The words were clipped and precise. "All Colonial personnel, we will jump in exactly eight minutes. Press hard, make combat landings, do what you have to. Every viper is ordered to provide cover until the two-minute mark, then come back to the barn. Repeat—at the _two minute_ mark, _all vipers_ _and raptors_ must return to Pegasus."

Looking down, Captain Karl Agathon took one more deep breath, then activated the EMP. He announced to the CIC to expect an energy drain in a few minutes; they should continue normal operations.

Eyes locked on the dradis, Helo observed the markers moving around the Pegasus, silently mouthing the Gemini blessing _shomasha_ every time another vessel landed. He couldn't stop his foot from tapping in nervous energy. The fear threatening to subsume him, however, was increasing incrementally as each second ticked by. There was still no sign of Lee Adama. Even though Apollo had the rendezvous jump coordinates pre-programmed in the raptor, the likelihood the Commander of the fleet would bypass the battle site in favor of a direct transfer to the rendezvous was minimal.

Helo knew all too well they were out of options. He could see the basestars moving in closer to the Pegasus; in another few minutes they would be able to land direct blows against the ship's hull. Ordering a second set of nuclear targeting, he hoped the damage would be sufficient to buy them precious minutes. Karl looked at the countdown on the EMP panel; four minutes left until the weapon was fully operational.

The comm officer suddenly sprang out of his seat. "Captain, it's…it's Starbuck! It's Starbuck!"

The CIC seemed to resonate with the sound of that unmistakable voice.

"Pegasus Actual, Starbuck. Repeat—Starbuck, with Apollo on board. We're a bit ragged—long night—but we're on our way back to the barn."

Helo smiled, the sensation a bit strange after so many hours of tension. "Starbuck! Gods, Starbuck, are we happy hear your voice!" He could feel his emotions rising too quickly to the surface, and forced himself to pull everything back in, lest he make a crucial mistake in these vital final minutes.

"Starbuck, I don't have time to explain further, but we have to jump in…three minutes. No exceptions. Use your rapid burners, and land in bay 'Fox.' Repeat: use rapid burners, land in bay 'Fox.' "

"Understood, Pegasus Actual. Leave the light on."

Kara talked to herself as she prepared for the jolt of the burner to kick in, anxiety playing with her mind. They were nearly at bingo fuel; it was likely to be rough landing.

Two raiders came at her. Again, motor memory took over, but Kara almost lost control of the stick in trying to dodge enemy fire while traveling at three times the normal speed. _I may be using the callsign, but Starbuck certainly isn't the one piloting yet_.

Forcing her fear back, Kara called out to Apollo. "How's it going, flyboy—talk to me here."

No answer. Her fear roared back.

"Apollo, respond—are you still with me?"

Still no answer; her heart sank. _He has to hang on, he just has to_. The landing bay was in front of them now, and Kara let out an exclamation of excitement. Abruptly remembering the protocol—it was amazing how much of this seemed to come back from out of nowhere—she flipped on the comm. "Pegasus, coming in hot; need impact barrier. Also request priority one medical. Repeat: priority one medical. Commander Apollo is unconscious and requires immediate care."

Kara fought for the landing, skidding a good 50 feet before finally hitting the impact barrier. Her heart pounding loudly in her chest, she hit the hatch release before leaping towards the slumped-over Apollo.

He was out cold and his skin was grey—no color at all. She released his flight restraints just as the medical team rushed into the ship and she tried to flatten herself against the hull, giving the team room to maneuver. Kara wanted to do something, say something, move—but she was frozen in place. She couldn't seem to breath deeply; she began hyperventilating.

Fortunately, as one medic examined Apollo and positioned a backboard to carry the man off the ship, a second medic noticed Kara. The woman swiftly placed an oxygen mask over Kara's face, talking to her calmly to try and quiet her. Kara felt her knees buckle; the medic caught her and yelled for a second board and gurney.

The words were hard to make out, with so many people talking at once, but Kara thought she heard Cottle's voice. He was yelling orders to the medical team swarming around Lee's gurney. She sensed she was being moved; the last thing Kara remembered was staring at the corridor ceiling lights, thinking about Apollo and hoping she'd brought them home in time.

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It was impossible to avoid pacing. Helo was nearly at his breaking point. He knew his wife was in Life Station, along with Roslin, the Admiral, Lee, and Kara. There was no immediate report on the status of any of them. Word had reached Karl that Tigh, Dualla, and the rest of the CIC officer crew had survived the explosion, landing on Pegasus, but no one could tell him if there were injuries.

Six larger transports from Galactica—over one hundred eighty military personnel—were still trying to make it to safety and they lacked FTL capability. Exactly sixty seconds remained before the EMP weapon would discharge. The Pegasus had been taking heavy fire; he was out of defensive maneuvers and couldn't afford to deploy more vipers at this late stage. Twenty-five birds—half on bingo fuel—were providing cover for the straggling ships.

Helo faced the choice, the one he never wanted. Karl Agathon had few ambitions regarding title or power, yet he was now in the position where he would have to make the leadership call—pivotal, permanent, and devastating, regardless of which option he selected.

Scanning the dradis and listening to the ongoing wireless traffic, he inhaled deeply as he counted. One transport aboard. Fifty-five seconds. Two more aboard. Fifty seconds. Ten vipers landed. Forty-five seconds. The EMP weapon fired. Helo yelled.

"On my mark…Jump."

Mentally, Karl tried to picture the faces of some of the courageous people who'd just been left to die, suffering excruciating pain. He wondered how he would tell Lee Adama that Luanne Katraine was among those soldiers; how he would break the news to Admiral Adama his beloved Galactica no longer existed, that thirty percent of its crew didn't survive. Most of all, he wondered how the gods, the ones communicating they wanted their children to reach Earth, could be the same gods who allowed such a broad reach for Death on the path towards that goal.

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**End of Section I; Sections II and III to follow (please see Author's notes at beginning of chapter).**

**Reviews appreciated.**

"ghost network"—idea presented in _Fringe_ TV episode of same name.


	18. Ch 13: Illusions of Grandeur

**Chapter 13: Illusions of Grandeur**

"_We got lost again. Drove to the end of a road, and a red-faced man taught us to do what we're told. And on the 23rd night, things ain't bad but things ain't right. Are we falling or flying? Are we living or dying? I guess we'll never know." Falling or Flying lyrics, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals_

"_I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice." Abraham Lincoln_

"_Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends." J. R. R. Tolkien, __The Lord Of the Rings__, Book Four, Chapter One_

_*************************************************************************************************************_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Primary Cargo Deck, Level C, Ten Minutes Past Jump**

Helo was rushing down the corridor towards the main cargo deck, ten Marines following closely behind. He was cursing repeatedly under his breath, wishing desperately he could see his family and get some rest. Instead, he was heading into yet another crisis, from an unexpected quarter.

The stim pill he'd taken two hours earlier was giving him a pounding headache, and his pulse kept racing. Gritting his teeth against the protests of strain emanating from nearly every part of his body, Helo tightened his fists by his side, girding himself for the onslaught on the other side of the bay doors.

The smells hit him first: tylium fumes, hydraulic lubricant, human sweat…with undercurrents of blood and death. Then the noises registered—shouts for attention, people moaning in pain or crying, children screaming, the scrape of metal against metal, medics calling out orders, equipment powering up or shutting down, individuals yelling threats and accusations. For a split second, Helo felt his knees threaten to give way; he countered by lunging forward and climbing, steps at a time, to the steel walkway above the fray. Snapping up the receiver for the loudspeaker system, Helo announced his presence and asked for the people below to quiet down and stand still. There was no response from the crowd; the roar of noise echoed unabated.

Karl searched frantically for something he could use to get the crowd's attention. There would be no way to handle the current security situation with so much random turmoil; he had to stop the churning mess across the storage deck. He realized the one noise that would stop all the people in their tracks long enough for him to issue orders, and removed his gun from its holster. Aiming carefully for a heavy ceiling brace, Karl issued three rapid shots.

As hoped, everyone stopped moving, though moaning and crying could still be heard ricocheting across the space. Helo used the receiver again and ordered everyone to remain perfectly still. He signaled the Marines should fan out along the upper walkway to scan the crowd and determine exactly where the security situation was unfolding.

The sight of a large number of people hanging onto the sides of a transport, some standing atop the ship, indicated where he needed to be. Helo motioned to the Marines to proceed to that location, then spoke into the loudspeaker receiver.

"Everyone, other than emergency responders, is required to immediately vacate and remain at least fifty feet from that transport near the control room for this deck. Anyone violating this order will be put in a jail cell, where he or she can expect to remain for an indefinite time, since we're all a little busy right now." The crowd nearby began slowly moving away from the transport.

"I said move! Clear out now!" Helo was frustrated that these people, so recently rescued, would already be spoiling for a fight. He followed the last soldier down the steps and walked purposefully towards the small ship. As Helo came close enough to see faces of the refugees, his jaw tightened; the haunted looks, dirty clothes, and pinched features telegraphed the horrors they'd endured. He cursed himself for his lack of sensitivity. The stims were affecting his emotions.

Re-focusing on the current situation, Helo stepped into the main control hub for the area. All of the door and floor controls for the storage deck were situated here, as was the communication equipment. Allowing one Marine to enter the room with him, Helo opened up a channel to the transport and put on a headset to talk; this was not a conversation for others to overhear.

"Chief Tyrol, this is Captain Agathon. Please respond."

Galen's tight voice came over the comm. "Tyrol here."

"Chief, what's the situation? I was told you have enemy combatants aboard and are refusing to leave the ship unless they're given safe passage." Helo kept his voice low and steady.

"I have two Cylons aboard, Sir, but they're not combatants. They helped my team reach the human Resistance camp and are responsible for delivering half of the supplies airlifted from the planet."

"What? I don't—" Helo stopped himself from talking. He had to think. There were no hard counts of anything yet, but he knew the Colonials had managed to bring back more ammunition and medical supplies than expected. Still….why would Tyrol trust Cylons? Could it be an infiltration?

"Chief—Galen—I need details. Who and why. Given everything…suspicions are high and people are trigger-happy. What you're asking is—"

"Karl, it's—it's Boomer. I mean, a downloaded Boomer. And she wants…I mean I promised to…"

Karl realized Tyrol was off-balance. His statements were jumbled, his tone uncertain and anxious. There was a lot the Chief would need to explain, but that clearly wasn't going to happen yet. Karl would have to decide how far he was willing to go to resolve the immediate problem, getting the Chief off the transport.

Rubbing his eyes, images of Sharon's face lingered in his mind. She had made a commitment to be with the humans; it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that Boomer wanted to do the same. But she shot the Admiral…Helo shook his head. It was difficult to evaluate things properly, when any "Sharon" Cylon model was involved, and he could imagine how Galen might be pulled into an emotional conundrum. Still, that didn't explain the second Cylon, and it didn't excuse the danger Tyrol had possibly brought amongst them.

The proper course of action would be to airlock the Cylons and isolate Tyrol until his mental state could be evaluated. The Chief, however, was insisting on a guarantee of stayed execution for the two aboard, or he wouldn't come out and he would shoot anyone who tried to board. Helo refused to lie to the man in order to end the crisis, and there had already been too much bloodshed.

A rap on the glass caused Helo to look up; he saw a soldier he didn't recognize. Signaling he should step into the room, Helo turned off the comm momentarily as he waited for the soldier to speak.

"Captain, Sir, I'm Gunny Seth Westin, and I came as soon as I heard what was going on. I was on the team that went to secure weapons from the Cylon armory. Whatever the Chief's telling you about those Cylon women, it's true."

"These Cylons helped you reach camp and brought the supplies?"

"Yes Sir. I know it could be a trap…and I know what's supposed to be done. But I wanted you to understand…I don't know what I believe about those two. I can only say that they're the reason I'm alive after that mission, and they came back to rescue us, even after we'd refused the help earlier."

Helo studied the soldier. He seemed as uncertain and anxious as Tyrol, but he was confirming the Chief's story—what little they understood so far.

"Thank you, Gunny Westin. That'll be all." The man nodded and stepped out.

Helo switched on the link again. "Chief, are you still there?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you have a Gunny Seth Westin with you when you went to the Cylon armory?"

"Yes."

"Well, he confirms your initial statements. I'm calling in additional Marines to provide escort for the Cylon women and you. They'll be taken to the brig, placed in the isolation cells for now. You'll go to Life Station, get checked out, and then be confined to quarters under Marine Guard. I…you're a hero to everyone, Chief, for what you did on New Caprica. But in bringing the enemy aboard—I'm worried about your safety."

"Understood. Let me know when the Marines are in place."

As the comm went dead, Helo was unsettled by the mercurial shift in Tyrol's mood. He'd gone from anxious to cold in a matter of minutes. The lack of information was alarming too—in situations like this, the Chief was usually forthcoming. Helo decided the Marines should be prepared for a sudden security escalation. It was possible the Cylons had held Tyrol hostage; there was no way to know what might happen when the hatch door finally opened.

Despite Helo's concerns, the three individuals emerged quietly from the ship. Karl tried to manage the drop in his stomach when Boomer walked down the ramp—he would never adjust to seeing others of the "Sharon" model. The blond Cylon he recognized as "Shelley Godfrey." Karl noticed her arm was in a temporary cast. Tyrol stepped out last, and despite the situation, Helo found himself reaching to grab Galen's hand. They locked eyes for a minute before a quick shoulder embrace, and Karl cursed the lump forming in his throat.

As the soldiers disappeared past the hangar doors, Helo registered that many refugees were staring and whispering. There'd be fallout from this decision; it wouldn't take long for the news to spread across the fleet.

With a resigned breath, he signaled for the remaining soldiers on deck to attempt to manage the processing, and walked slowly towards the exit. Without warning, Karl felt his body go limp, and fell forward, just catching himself on his hands and knees before he blacked out.

Two minutes later, conscious but off-balance, Helo sat up as he heard Dr. Cottle's voice in his ear and felt his hands guiding his back.

"Captain, it's time to activate Phase IV of Commander Adama's plan. You're on your last legs, and it's safe to say Dualla, Tigh, and Racetrack are no better."

"No, Doc, I can't. Too much—"

"That's exactly why the Commander put me in charge of the decision, Captain. I'm going too, you know, and I don't want to leave my post either. But the others are ready and rested. Lee's plan was well-crafted—that's been borne out in the past three days—we need to stay on track."

"But Sharon and Hera..."

"You'll see them in twelve hours, and actually be coherent enough to remember the experience. Come on—let's get moving. I've got updates I can share on the way over."

Karl nodded, wincing as the dizziness overtook him a second time. He allowed the doctor to help him stand, and together they walked towards the lift that would take them to the Operation Nightfall location.

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Deep in the core of the Pegasus, a bunker existed. This class of battlestar had been designed for deep-space military missions, and in the event of extended battles without reinforcements, the security plans called for a second "shadow" command crew to be housed in this bunker. The second crew would relieve the first after seventy-two hours of continuous fighting, or replace key officers killed in action, if the CIC took a direct hit. After a second cycle of seventy-two hours, the crews would switch again, if needed.

After serving on the Eos, experiencing first-hand the toll of prolonged deep-space battles, Lee was convinced of the soundness of this security strategy, and he allowed each senior officer to hand-select his or her counterpart for the shadow crew. Only Pegasus and Galactica military personnel were previously informed of the plan; the goal was make the transition as quiet as possible.

The duration of the second command would only be for twelve hours, rather than three days. At the time of the plan design, Lee didn't think the extended rotations would be necessary or advisable. He was aiming to accomplish the basics: sleep, food, clean-up, and a change of clothes. The orders, however, were firm regarding who would stand down and for how long. A team of twenty Marines guarded the perimeters, and they were instructed to insure the people on the transition list made it inside in addition to protecting the bunker itself.

As Helo and Cottle approached the main hatch, fifty-two men and women were lined up in four rows. They were receiving their final briefing before heading out for assignments. With the loss of one battlestar, those who would have been transported to Galactica would instead begin working on the refugee operations plan, while the Pegasus shadow crew ran the CIC and resumed CAPs. Helo approached the Operation Nightfall Officer in Charge, Captain Aaron Kelly.

"Captain Kelly—"

"Good to see you, Sir." The officer shook Helo's hand.

"Make sure we have at least one jump completed in the next twelve hours…the Cylons will be on high alert to find our position."

"I'll follow Commander Adama's plan, Sir. You can rest easy."

Helo attempted a small smile. "Well, I'll rest, at least. How many have made it here?"

"Forty, Sir—twelve were lost with Galactica. The fourteen who arrived from the battlestar are all inside—some had injuries, but Cottle cleared them all for the transition, so they'll be able to resume duties after the rest period is over."

"Do you have a listing?" Kelly gave him a hand-written sheet of names.

Helo scanned the page, grateful so many of the people he hoped had survived were indeed present and accounted for.

"Thank you, Captain Kelly. Please tell the "Twelvers" we're deeply appreciative of their service."

"Words cannot describe how we all—we're honored to do everything we can to help carry the load now, Sir." The man's eyes conveyed the intensity of pride he felt for everything the Colonials had accomplished.

With a shallow nod, Helo staggered into the bunker, grateful Cottle hadn't let go of his arm. He remained unsteady on his feet. As the two stepped past the hatch, they were greeted with clapping; the other officers in the room smiled and called out to them.

Hand foods were set out along a side counter; a "quick-clean" cloth and sweats for sleeping were arranged on each bunk. A slight breeze from the air vents kept the large room from becoming too stifling, and extra blankets were set at the foot of each cot in case some needed extra warmth. Helo could hear running water in the background, as a few of the officers decided to take full showers now; most of the group would settle for a good dousing later, after sleep.

Tigh walked up to Helo, gesturing where his specific bunk was located. "We had to find the extra-large's for you, of course," he teased as he pointed out the sweats.

Without preamble, Helo grabbed the man, squeezing his shoulders. "So glad to see you here, Colonel."

Tigh looked down at the floor. "Damned relieved, myself."

"Are you injured? Cottle didn't say—"

"Look, Agathon, there'll be time for show and tell later. Grab something to eat and get ready for your bunk. The Doc's insisted we all have to take a sedative, to make sure no one gets less than ten hours of z-time. No point sleeping on an empty stomach."

Helo didn't need a second urging. He picked up a few things, and quickly drank a full bottle of water before wiping himself down and changing. Cottle passed along the aisles, handing out water and the sleep aid. Within ten minutes, everyone had climbed into a cot. Faint lowlights along the floor seams provided just enough illumination to prevent an individual from feeling like he or she was being sealed into a metal coffin. The Marines closed the hatch doors.

Helo wished there had been time to look for the others in the bunker, like Dee and Margaret, laying eyes on them and reassuring himself they were alright. Although he was relieved to know Sharon was in stable condition in the Life Station, he ached to see her. There'd been no time…no way to absorb the positive realities of mission completion. He had yet to hold Sharon in his arms, and experienced only one fleeting reunion with his daughter; the pain of loneliness gripped his chest as he fought the impulse to run out of the room and be with his family. The effect of the medication, though, began pulling his eyelids shut; with a long shuddering exhale, Karl felt his chest lighten just enough to allow him to slip into unconsciousness.

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**CIC, Pegasus, Seven Hours into Operation Nightfall**

Captain Aaron Kelly was listening carefully to the reports from the Communications Officer on duty, Lieutenant John Silps. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until the last ship was called out and he knew the jump had been successful. It would have been unbearable to lose anyone else at this point, a slap in the face to the people who'd worked so hard to bring the fleet back together. He wasn't going to allow anything like that to happen on his watch.

It had taken some time to be sure the list of ships' captains was current and verify each one of the vessels had a viable, working FTL drive. Truthfully, everything was frustrating—too long, too slow, and too convoluted. He needed clear communications and completed verifications. Requests were pouring in from every other ship in the fleet for information, and he couldn't provide half-cocked answers. He had a third of the "Twelvers" working on tracking down data, facts he could be certain were solid. Adama's plan was explict:

_Locate living Quorum members and arrange for transport to Pegasus._

_Verify identity of current President and Vice President of the Twelve Colonies. Arrange for full military protection._

_Identify liaison on each ship for manifests—detail every person aboard, alive or deceased. Begin arrangements for temporary morgues._

_Prepare list of military personnel and New Caprica Resistance Fighters who died in action._

_Ascertain location and status of spouses and children for senior military officers; arrange for transport._

_Identify supplies coordinator for each ship and validate current levels/needs._

_Identify medical lead for each ship and obtain list of wounded, with health status._

_Obtain current figures for military support: vipers, raptors, munitions, fuel reserves, etc._

_Arrange for twelve-hour rest period for all viper and raptor pilots, as feasible. Conduct same for all ship support crew: mechanics, engineers, etc._

_Work with ships' captains to prepare a designated Memorial Area on each vessel._

_Locate and transfer priests/priestesses, as feasible, among fleet. Provide dedicated transport for each religious leader._

_Obtain and review medical status reports every six hours for all ships in fleet._

_Announce to all ships' captains a public briefing will be conducted by senior Pegasus leadership within twenty-four hours after completion of Operation Skyfall._

It was recognized Kelly couldn't complete these tasks in twelve hours, but he was to ensure all had been initiated and were actively in progress by the time the first crew returned to duty. The sequence of priorities from the list had been government/military functions, medical care/rest periods, census, supplies, and religious/secular recognition for the dead.

Kelly was able to determine the current President was Tom Zarek, and no Vice-President had been appointed. According to the Constitution of the Twelve Colonies, the highest-ranking Quorum member was the designated successor to the office of Vice-Presidency, though the issue had not been addressed during the Cylon Occupation. It fell to him to locate the surviving Quorum members and determine the one of highest rank.

Unfortunately, time was of the essence. The physician in charge, Dr. Waltham, had given little hope for Zarek's survival—the extent of his injuries, coupled with his already-weakened immune system, had overpowered his body's capacity to heal. Zarek was in Intensive Care; all personnel had been under strict orders to keep the President's health status confidential. Tom was conscious, at least part of the time, and understood he was dying; he was deeply concerned that power be transferred properly. A clear line of leadership had to be established, or an intense struggle for the office of the Presidency could ensue. With Laura Roslin in critical condition, there was no other recognized civilian authority to guide the political process, and the Colonials could ill-afford any turmoil in leadership. Kelly understood this was his primary mission while in command.

He turned his attention to his Communications Officer again. "Silps—get on the line with the other Twelvers searching for the Quorum members. Tell them I need an update in the next fifteen minutes, and afterward, if they have to physically shuttle themselves to some of the ships to get cooperation, I expect it to be done. Then contact the transition CAGs, Captain Simmons and Lieutenant Valroy, and make sure the CAPs are set to start again; we'll need alert patrols if shuttling becomes necessary."

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**Pegasus Life Station, Seven Hours into Operation Nightfall**

Tory softly stroked Tom's face, hoping to soothe him. He had refused additional morpha, worried he would slip into unconsciousness and be unable to fulfill his final duty; his clammy skin conveyed how much it was costing him. Tory tried to keep the tears from falling constantly down her cheeks, but it was no use. The man she loved was dying, and after so much sacrifice, it seemed unfair and unbefitting. Tory cursed the gods for their apparent indifference—Tom Zarek had been a faithful servant, and he deserved more happiness in his life than the selfish gods had provided.

She knew she shouldn't commit such heresy, but her heart was in agony. Somehow, despite all the risks and harrowing events of the past four months, she'd never honestly imagined Tom would die. It was surreal. Tory found herself wondering if the rescue would ever feel tangible, if she could be a part of things without Tom beside her. She wasn't sure she wanted to be here, lonely and isolated once more. He'd given her a sense of belonging, a way to share her true self after years of repression. How would she cope without the haven he represented?

A gentle tug of her arm led Tory to look around and see Sam standing nearby. He didn't say anything, just took her hand, encouraging her to get out of her seat. Her legs felt shaky; Sam slipped his arms around her waist for support. With tears in his own eyes, Sam bent down to kiss her forehead. The cries rattled in her lungs. He pulled Tory into his chest, resting his cheek against the top of her head as she convulsed with emotion. For ten minutes or more, she sobbed, trembling with grief as Sam held on, rocking her gently.

Finally moving her head to look up at him, Sam held her face in his warm hands, letting his thumbs wipe the wetness from under her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Tory," he whispered. "The whole situation—it's unfair—"

Tory nodded. "He deserves more life, Sam, more joy, more satisfaction, more—"

Tom interrupted, his voice croaking. "Hey, I'm not dead…if you want me to have more, come talk to me." He smiled quickly as he said it, and started coughing. His face contorted; the pain was becoming unbearable.

"Damnit, Tom, you're going to take the morpha. I can't watch you like this!" Tory's features were angry, masking her sadness.

Sam spoke up. "I'll go get Dr. Waltham." He disappeared from the Intensive Care station.

Tom squeezed Tory's hand. "It will be alright, Tory. I'm not afraid of this, I'm really not."

"Well, I am." She started sobbing again as she sat down on his bed. "I can't—I won't do this, Tom, be without you. I finally found this happiness, and now the gods are—"

"Shhhhh. Shhhhh. Don't think that way, please. We've shared something rare, in the middle of so much madness, and I'm content to die knowing I experienced it." His voice was steadier as he talked to her.

"Tom, I love you. I never thought I would find that—real love—and to have it snatched away from us is unconscionable. I hate—"

"No. Don't speak that aloud, Tory, don't curse us both. I've maybe earned my passage to the Elysian Fields, after all, and I won't risk my berth at this late juncture. I'm begging you…love me enough to let me go. We'll be together again one day, I know it in my heart. This was fate—over many cycles—the gods aren't separating us now. You mustn't think of it that way. We're just…traveling on different paths for a while." He closed his eyes, writhing as another wave of pain caused his muscles to spasm.

Thankfully, Dr. Waltham arrived. Tory stepped out of the way as the physician gave Tom an injection of morpha, then set up a slow drip. Tom tried to stop him from completing the second task.

"Mr. President, I know what you're concerned about, and I promise, we'll keep you from falling into deep unconsciousness. If necessary, I'll inject you with epinephrine, straight into your heart, to bring you out of the sedation. I'll also testify to your soundness of mind. Alright?"

Sinking back into the bed, Tom nodded weakly. His eyes were already heavy; whether he wanted it or not, he was going to drift asleep. At least he could breathe now, the pain ebbing. He tightened his grip on Tory's hand for a moment, before tilting his head away, jaw slack and hand falling to his hip. Tory covered her face in her hands, her chest heaving. She knew he was still alive—barely—but soon it wouldn't be a question of unconsciousness. He would stop breathing, stop moving…and she would be alone.

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In another ICU station, Laura Roslin was just waking up. Nearly three days earlier, she'd undergone long hours of surgery to repair her heart. Part of her respiratory system had also been damaged; the physicians had managed to keep her breathing on her own, but the pain was sapping her of energy. She'd only been alert enough to get out of bed once, and the effort—despite the fact the movement was to help her lungs function and keep blood clots from forming—cost her dearly. She slept for the next eighteen hours. It was not restful—Laura struggled with disturbing dreams and confusion—and she tried, vainly, to stay awake. Her body refused.

Bill had been present with her for the first two days, before disappearing from view. She wasn't conscious for half that time—the anesthesia and morpha had dissipated slowly. From what Laura could remember, Bill sat by her bed for most of that period, holding her hand but hardly speaking a word. He just rocked back and forth, tears continually slipping silently down his face. Laura had never seen him so completely undone, absent his core strength. It frightened her, though she wasn't able to do anything to help—she wasn't even able to use her voice yet, her vocal chords raw from trauma. Bill's tongue seemed stilled by the terrors and regrets pressing upon him.

Finally, after eighteen hours of fitfulness, Laura had awakened and discovered she could talk, though it was wispy sound, threatening to disappear without notice. Bill was no longer in the ICU station; she was alarmed and tried to leave her bed to find him. The medic who rushed in to catch her before she stumbled to the floor agreed to find Dr. Waltham who would let her know what had happened.

Waltham took a chair when he came in, signaling the news was serious and he wanted to engage her at eye-level when he shared the information. Laura's bed had been partially raised, to make it easier to talk; she intertwined her fingers, hands in her lap, as she waited for the doctor to say something.

"Hello, Laura. We met earlier, but you may not remember it, given the medications—I'm your surgeon. Dr. Cottle is off-duty for a short while; I'm the physician in charge for the moment. The medic said you were anxious to find out where the Admiral is."

Laura nodded, trying to save her speaking voice.

"Shortly after I started this shift, I asked one of the Pegasus officers to set up private quarters for the Admiral. There was too much drama around here. He needed to rest. I administered a heavy-duty sedative, because the Admiral wasn't going to stay still otherwise, and arranged for a medic to remain in the room. I'm keeping that medic updated on the status of the people down here, so he can answer questions when the Admiral wakes up."

Laura brought a hand to her throat as she struggled to ask a question. Waltham handed her a cup of water.

"The 'drama'….what do you mean?" She wasn't aware of anything that had transpired since she was brought aboard the ship, other than her surgery and Bill's presence. Laura knew three days had passed, but only because the medic had previously shared how many hours she had been in the ICU.

Waltham sighed audibly. "I think you'll appreciate the depth of Admiral Adama's distress if I just list some of the people in the ICU right now: Tom Zarek, Sharon Agathon, Anastasia Dualla, Lee Adama, Kara Thrace—and most significantly, of course, you."

Laura's hand traveled to mouth. She tried to process the enormity of sorrow and guilt Bill must be carrying around.

"You were right to take him out of here for a while...thank you for looking out for him." Waltham gave her another cup to help her throat.

Eyes widening as she realized the potential implications, Laura asked about Tom's condition.

"I need to know the health of our President," she managed to get out.

Waltham looked her directly in the eyes. "He's not going to survive more than a few hours. I'm sorry Dr. Cottle wasn't here to be the one to tell you…I realize how difficult this news must be."

Laura's hand went to her mouth once more, fingers quivering against her lips. "Gods. Those Cylon bastards! Tom's given so much to us…" she compressed her palms against her eyes, trying to stop the emotion from overtaking her.

After a moment, she looked back to Dr. Waltham. "We need to have a successor in place. I—"

"I know your commitment to the fleet, Ms. Roslin, and I can assure you Captain Kelly and his team are actively searching for all surviving Quorum members now."

"Kelly? But where's Tigh? Or Lieutenant Agathon?" Smothering panic was rising quickly through her body.

The doctor stood, moving to increase the dosage of one of Laura's IV medications. "Ms. Ros—Laura—please lean back and try to rest for a moment. I realize you have a lot of questions, but I can't risk your heart. Spikes in blood pressure or pulse, shallow breathing—we have to avoid these things. As difficult as it is, you have to focus on the information, rather than the emotion, or you'll risk undoing all the progress you've made. The fleet cannot afford to lose you." His voice was careful and kind; Laura realized he was sincere in his concern. She tried to relax her muscles, closing her eyes as her energy wavered.

Waltham returned to his chair. "Commander Adama—Lee—established a detailed set of plans for the New Caprica rescue, the immediate period afterward, and longer-range considerations. We're currently in Phase IV, named Operation Nightfall. Senior officers from Pegasus and Galactica are in a bunker on the lower deck, recovering from the intensity of the past few days.

'In another five hours, they'll come back on duty—including Colonel Tigh and Captain Agathon. In the meantime, a second team, handpicked by the senior members, is running all fleet operations. Captain Kelly is in charge, and he's responsible for locating the Quorum members and swearing in a Vice-President."

Laura appreciated the level of organization Lee had demonstrated—he had obviously grown into his leadership position during the last four months.

"I'm grateful for the explanation, doctor."

"If you're up to it, after we're done talking, I'll have someone bring you to President Zarek's station for a little while…give you some time alone. He's been asking for you; I think he wants to know there'll be some guidance for the new—" Waltham stopped, not wishing to appear insensitive.

"Understandable. Can you tell me about the others, their conditions?" Laura kept her eyes closed; she hoped it would be easier to contain her emotions that way.

"Sharon suffered a number of serious injuries, but she'll pull through. Anastasia was wounded when the Galactica exploded, but her vitals are good. Lee--

"What did you just say?" Laura bolted straight up, sending the monitors into full alarm mode.

"Ana—Dualla—"

"No, godsdamnit—what did you say about Galactica!" The words rasped harshly as her vocal chords were strained past tolerance.

Realizing his mistake, the doctor cursed himself for his carelessness. "Laura, drink this water, and let me give you a local numbing agent for your throat. You won't be able to talk further right now, but we have prevent permanent damage to your vocal chords." Roslin wanted to object, but her esophagus spasmed and she started coughing. It felt like she was choking.

Dr. Waltham sprayed something with a bitter aftertaste deep into the back of her mouth before placing an oxygen mask over her face. He repeatedly urged her to breathe as deeply as possible, even though the pain was sharp and she thought briefly she might pass out from the intensity of it. At last, the spasms subsided. By this time, Laura was exhausted; she wanted to remain conscious, but wasn't sure it was possible for much longer.

To her surprise, the doctor took her hand in his own and moved the chair closer, so he could speak softly next to her for another few minutes. "In the last of the fighting—after you had been brought aboard the Pegasus—the battlestars were fending off attacks from four Cylon base ships, trying to buy enough time for the Colonials still in transit to reach safety.

"The Galactica suffered serious damage, and its crew had to abandon ship. The battlestar exploded, and while many escaped to Pegasus, there were also significant losses. Colonel Tigh incurred only minor injuries, but Captain Dualla was struck by debris and broke her arm in three places. She'll be all right, but the resetting required surgery, so Ana will be in Sickbay another day or so."

After a pause to scan Laura's monitors, Waltham continued. "Lee Adama went to New Caprica to extract Captain Thrace from the Cylon Headquarters. That mission was successful, but he was severely wounded. We had to operate on his leg twice, and now he's fighting septic infection. Sepsis is dangerous and difficult to treat. We're doing everything we can to save him, but the outlook is uncertain."

Laura opened her eyes briefly to look at Dr. Waltham. She could tell by his expression he feared the worst would come to pass. Unable to talk, but needing to learn about others, Laura raised her hand, flipping her wrist. She was relieved when he began mentioning some of the survivors from New Caprica and officers from Galactica.

"Sam Anders is fine, as is Tory Foster. Galen Tyrol also made it back safely. Baltar is in a well-guarded prison cell."

Squeezing his hand earnestly, Laura mouthed the name he hadn't mentioned. She was concerned Kara's status had been deftly avoided.

Dr. Waltham wrapped his other hand around hers as he held her gaze. "Kara…physically, she seems okay. There was clearly torture, over a long period of time, but her body survived most of the trauma." He pursed his lips together, searching for the best way to describe his real worries. "Mentally, though…she's having a tough time, Laura. Cottle will explain in more detail, but what I can tell you is that Kara has periods of lucidity. Other times, she's disoriented and combative. Kara suffered a concussion shortly before she came here, so we're hoping some of the behavior will even out as her brain recovers neurologically. We're…very concerned about her."

Laura turned her head away, tears pooling against the pillow underneath her face. She understood, all too well now, why Bill had started falling apart, why he had to be sedated to sleep. She pictured him, moving from one ICU station to the next, finding nothing but the devastation of nearly every person he cherished. They had been rescued from New Caprica, but they had not been saved. Recovery and redemption were still only imagined, and it would take support from forces she had not yet seen to bring them all back to wholeness.

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**Pegasus Life Station, End of Operation Nightfall; Initiation of Phase V, Project Restoration**

Lee was dreaming.

He was in Hades, but instead of darkness, there was illuminating heat—he could feel flames searing his skin. Ten-foot high walls of flame on all sides, suffocating him as the air was consumed by the greedy fires. He sank to his knees, crying out for the one person who could guide him through the crucible and back into the soothing sensations of cool metal, cool skin, cool waters. But Kara wasn't there, and the bitterness of his abandonment only hastened his final fall, as his hands struck the ground beneath him and he crashed onto his side. He thrust out his arm, vainly hoping a hand would grab on and pull him out of the pit. Breath gone, eyes barely registering, he flinched as he felt an old woman's hand wrap tightly around his wrist. The Priestess. She seemed to carry them until they were above the walls of fire, and suddenly Lee was standing in a grey room. The Priestess faced him.

"Apollo."

Lee kneeled. "Pythia." Her hand on his shoulder guided him to stand again.

"Where am I?"

"I've brought you to the _waiting room_. It's not your time to cross the river Styx, but the forces of darkness managed to inflict greater devastation than we expected. Starbuck is imprisoned by her nightmares. The gods are working to heal the foundation; until their task is finished, you must remain with me here."

"The fires…"

"Your body is compromised. The darkness invaded cleverly, through the only path available—physical limitation. The flames will pass over you—it is safe here."

"My father is suffering."

"Yes. But the flames will pass over him as well."

Lee's vision grew blurry. "I'm dizzy…need to sit down."

The room shimmered, and now there were two large, overstuffed chairs. The Priestess was reclining in one of them. Lee sank into the other.

"Should we…am I expected to talk? Is there another test?" Lee studied the woman across from him.

"No, Apollo. I'm here only for support…you would lose your way in the fog of imagined abandonment. Until Starbuck arrives, I will keep you company, reassure you there is no permanent isolation or separation. Words are unnecessary.

"Focus on breathing deeply, in measured rhythm, and listen to the music. The sound, the harmony, the layers, the pace of three-four time—memorize these. Feel them resonate in your soul. There will be moment when you'll hear the same music, and you'll know you are home."

As Lee forced his limbs to relax, he heard the music. It was the embodiment of Kara, somehow, the private Kara when she had no traces of "Starbuck" lingering at the edges of her being. He allowed himself to drift with the intricate interplay of melodies, filled with a sense of completion and peace.

He waited patiently. Kara would come.

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Kelly was running the distance to the Life Station, Helo and the Quorum member close behind. Only one of the Quorum of Twelve who had gone to New Caprica survived—Meridian Hamathos, formerly of Aquaria. She had been located on one of the larger civilian ships and landed on Pegasus minutes earlier. Without much explanation, Kelly had asked her to follow him to sickbay; Helo met up with them in the central corridor.

The three barreled through the hatch to Life Station, only slowing when they remembered exactly where they were. Dr. Cottle gestured them to a curtained ICU station. Tom Zarek was covered with several blankets, his skin eerily pale and translucent. Tory was standing in the corner above his bed, while Laura Roslin sat nearby, hunched in her wheelchair, breathing through an oxygen mask. Laura's color nearly matched Tom's; Helo shuddered as he absorbed the scene, wondering how many more would die over the next several days.

Dr. Cottle spoke. "We need Captain Agathon and Ms. Hamathos here. I'll wait at the medic's station, in case there's an emergency; Ms. Foster and Ms. Roslin will remain as witnesses to the ceremony."

Karl placed a copy of the _Scrolls of Pythia_ under Tom's hand and began whispering the words to the swearing-in for Vice President. Though he had little energy left, Tom managed to complete the ritual. Meridian Hamathos became the official successor to the Presidency.

The woman who had just taken the oath and would soon be asked to take another stood transfixed as she repeated the words necessary to finish the steps. Meridian looked shocked and unnerved, though she was able to hold herself still and project an attitude of reverence for the responsibilities she was accepting. As soon as the process was over, Dr. Cottle ushered everyone but Tory to the makeshift waiting area, then wheeled Laura back to her ICU station and re-situated her in the bed.

Helo gently took Meridian's arm and brought her into a small office outside of the ICU. He shut the door; an uncomfortable quiet immediately descended in the room.

"Please have a seat, Ms.—Vice President Hamathos."

"Call me Meridian."

Knowing Cottle stashed shot glasses and ambrosia in one of the cabinets, Helo located them and sat down. He poured the drinks and offered one to her.

They gulped the glasses down without a word. Neither spoke for several minutes. Meridian shifted in her chair, to get Helo's attention, and asked a question.

"How does this work, exactly? I mean, will there be someone to brief me on things?"

Karl studied her, gleaning what he could about her personality. She looked to be in her thirties, an attractive woman with short, light-brown hair and grey-blue eyes. He'd noticed earlier that Meridian was fairly tall—five-foot nine inches, he guessed—and she had a self-possessed air. She carried herself with shoulders squared, rarely looking down, hands relaxed at her sides.

Meridian's eyes were always scanning the environment—it was unlikely much passed without her notice. He considered the fact she spoke so concisely—the circumstances were abnormal, but he suspected Meridian was not given to long conversations or monologues, regardless of events. The woman's word choices were those of an educated person, so she likely had attended University. If he had to guess, Helo thought Meridian may have been one of those individuals who was more intelligent than most of the people around her, and she'd learned to minimize the overt signs to help put others at ease. He needed to keep his wits about him when talking to her.

Responding to her question, Helo provided a few details. "Sadly, according to Dr. Cottle, President Zarek will likely pass away in another few hours. Once the pronouncement has been made, I'll be responsible for your next swearing-in as President. Laura Roslin can hopefully provide you with some guidelines for assuming the office, when she's stronger. Until that time, Tory Foster has agreed to act as your liaison, the role she formerly fulfilled under Roslin."

"Will Tory be up to that? I had the distinct impression she was emotionally involved with President Zarek."

"I understand the two became very close while leading the Resistance on New Caprica. To be honest, I can't guess how Tory will hold up—I never really interacted with her previously. I think, though, judging from the few things I've learned about her actions under Roslin and then with the Resistance, she's strong and committed." Helo watched Meridian, assessing her body language.

"That evaluation of her seems to fit; I appreciate your insights." The woman's tone was respectful, and somewhat detached. Helo wondered what was going on internally. He tried to imagine what it would be like to accept such a role with so little preparation or warning.

"Right now, Meridian, we'll need you to stay close by. I can arrange for you to rest in the Pegasus bunker; you'll have a place to sleep, if you need to, as well a working shower, and there's food and water available too. I'm not sure what we can do about a change of clothes, but—"

"I brought along a bag with my belongings, Captain. The pilot—Simmons?—he must have it."

"I'll track it down and have it delivered there."

"Why, exactly, is there a 'bunker' aboard a battlestar? I've never heard of that before."

"It's designed to support rotating shifts of senior officers, in the event a battle extends over many days."

"I see. I guess there's a lot I'll have to learn about this battlestar, and how the military and the civilian government work together."

Helo stared, uncertain how to respond to the statement. Finally, he opted to let her know how she could keep up with some of the basic data beginning to filter in. "There're automatic briefing updates that appear on the computer screens in the bunker. That should help you get started, in terms of what's going on in the fleet." Helo thought of something else. "I'll also provide you a copy of Commander Adama's multi-phased plan for rescue and re-integration. You'll see he laid out a clear path for military-civilian interactions during this time."

"I suppose it gives a great deal of power to the military," Meridian said. Her tone had a sharpness Helo found suddenly uncomfortable.

"Commander Adama is a firm believer in civilian constitutional governance. The plan favors the _people_ of the fleet, Madame Vice-President."

Meridian saw the man's eyes flair in irritation as he used her title again, and she sought to re-establish a balance between them.

"I meant no offense, Captain. I don't know the Commander at all. I…thank you for offering to share the document."

Helo's shoulders relaxed somewhat. "Let's bring you to the bunker and you can get situated." He stood. Meridian followed him as they walked to the location.

As soon as Helo left her in the room, she ate, showered, and climbed into a bunk to sleep. In a few hours, Meridian would bear responsibility for more lives, on a greater scale, than she could have possibly imagined; at the very least, she should be as alert as possible when the moment came.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Pegasus Life Station, End of First Day of Operation Restoration**

Helo sighed with relief when he walked into his private quarters. Captain Kelly had previously volunteered to take a longer shift so Helo could get off duty early and spend time with his newly reunited family.

With significant prodding, Karl had convinced Dr. Cottle to move Sharon, arguing she would recover more quickly with her daughter and husband nearby. She still required intravenous medications and fluids, so IV poles had been arranged next to the bed in their room. The medic assigned to watch Admiral Adama would stop by every six to eight hours to change Sharon's wound dressings and verify she was in stable condition.

Tears pricked his eyes as he listened to the familiar, soft breathing of his wife. Another sound, nearly identical in rhythm, reminded Karl his child was sleeping next her. Approaching the bed, he placed a kiss on Sharon's cheek, happy to study the beauty of her face in detail again.

Sharon quickly opened her eyes. Realizing Karl was there, she reached out her hand to pull him close; he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hello, wife. Gods, have I missed you." He bent over to drop his forehead against hers.

"Me too." They stayed that way for a few moments, letting the quiet and sensations of safety seep into their skin.

"Tom Zarek died, Sharon."

She moved a hand to Karl's face, cradling his cheek. With a small tug, Sharon brought his gaze to meet hers.

"He proved himself a strong leader on New Caprica. We wouldn't have survived the occupation without his work and sacrifices."

Helo nodded. "That's what Roslin, Sam, and Tory talked about; I could tell he meant a great deal to many people."

"I hope…please let Tory know I'd like to help with the Memorial, if I'm well enough. He deserves…" Karl was surprised to hear the depth of emotion in Sharon's voice. He gently stroked her face with his thumb.

"Lee…he knew honoring the dead would be one of the first major responsibilities after re-integration. He drafted some guidelines on how to proceed to meet different needs for remembrance services; there'll be a few ceremonies to recognize individuals, but we'll have to hold one large, general public memorial for most of the dead."

"I'm sorry so much of that burden is falling to you, my love." Sharon intuited, by the heaviness in Karl's voice, he had been designated the one to oversee the process.

Taking her hand in his own, Helo kissed the smooth skin above her long, elegant fingers. "I wish Lee was awake, Sharon. It's been difficult…I didn't realize how much I was relying on him, especially with you…gone for so long."

"I'm sure he leaned on you too. Thank the Lords of Kobol you were here to support Apollo through all this."

Tears began sliding along Karl's cheeks. A little taken aback, Sharon moved to rub his arms, hands gliding in a soothing motion as she studied his face. "What is it? What just hit you so hard?"

Shaking his head, eyes shut, a small sob escaped. "I just…I'm so sorry, Sharon. I should have been on that planet with you. I refused to carry out the order to jump away—"

A delicate touch feathered across his lips as Sharon's fingers silenced him. "You had to escape then if there was ever to be a chance of saving all of us on New Caprica. And it was my destiny to be with the Admiral.

"There's already been so much grief, Helo—don't torture yourself about the unexpected and inexplicable things of the past. I'm _glad _I was the one who found Hera, that I was able to bond with her, protect her. She's a very special little girl, our daughter."

"Why was she kept from us, Sharon? Every time I try to imagine how—" Karl clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I'll tell you about it, but later. It doesn't make a difference to us in the present; we're finally together, and I promise you, nothing will separate us. I want to feel you next to me, Karl, your arms around me…it's all I've been able to think about since I woke up in Life Station. The longing I've felt—it's been so powerful…"

Leaning in, Karl tenderly pressed his lips against Sharon's own. Briefly standing, he stripped down to his underwear. In a few seconds, he was under the covers, his body wrapped around the lithe, warm figure of his wife. Feathering kisses along her shoulders and neck, he allowed himself to finally register the enormity of his feelings. At the foundation of his soul, he experienced a release of fear.

Nestling his face into Sharon's soft hair, Karl delighted in the sensations, the _realness_ of her. He mentally framed a prayer, thanking the Lords of Kobol for his blessings. Another prayer followed before he drifted asleep, one of intercession: that the gods would offer Lee Adama and Kara Thrace the same peace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam stood near Kara, watching her face contort as her head tossed left, then right. She was having another nightmare, and there seemed to be little he could do to comfort her. Dr. Cottle was keeping Kara sedated for the time being; without medication, she couldn't sleep at all, and the doctor was worried enough about her mental condition without adding insomnia-induced psychoses to the list.

For the hour before, Sam had been consoling Tory. He knew her loss was profound, and he didn't try to minimize the circumstances by talking. Words were impotent things in this present reality. He just draped a blanket across her, from head to foot, and kept his arms wrapped around her small shoulders, trying to keep her warm—whenever tragic things happened, her skin became like ice. Sam had the irrational belief, if he could only prevent Tory's temperature from dropping, he could pull her through the next few days.

With the eyes of someone lost in a waking nightmare, Tory accepted the comfort, though it registered only in the periphery of her mind. Tears wouldn't fall; she'd cried herself out before Tom had slipped away, and now her body felt like a husk, hollowed out by grief that burned away all traces of who she'd been before Tom's love. When Sam finally had to move—his legs had become numb from pinched nerves—she gestured for him to go. It was too hard to speak, but Sam seemed to understand Tory's meaning; she only said one word. "Kara."

Kara, however, wasn't like Tory. Sam could find no path to reach her or soothe her. Even in her drug-induced sleep, Kara was fighting. Sam knew all too well she'd fight friend and foe when overwhelmed by the enormity of ill-fate, and it was obvious she'd been held deep in the grip of horrific events. Held far too long. Sam wanted to rage, to kill the Cylons with his bare hands. He also wanted to draw Kara fully against his chest and will the pain away from her.

But there would be a price to pay for failing to rescue her months ago when he'd sensed, with his whole being, she was at the soul's precipice. The fee, steep for Kara, was just as dear for him. He'd realized that. She wouldn't be the same person now, the person who had married and wanted to remain with Samuel Anders.

It was selfish for him to think of his own predicaments, in these moments, but the pain was real and crushing. Each time she did actually cry aloud while locked in her dreams, tossing about in the ICU bed—when it seemed, by her face, she was searching for the one who could lead her out of the darkness—the name she spoke seared Sam like a lash against macerated, raw skin. He'd tried to push the truth away, but it was there—exposed, revealed by a woman in too much pain to disguise secrets anymore. The guide she was seeking—pushing past the demons who were trying to pull her permanently downward in order to reach—was Apollo. She murmured the name…no, actually she whimpered it, yelled it, whispered it. A mantra.

Nearly twelve hours earlier—before Tom had crossed the river—Sam had come to Kara in the same way, standing near her bed. That time, however, as she'd thrashed sporadically, he'd been foolish enough to hold her, believing he was still the man she loved—her husband. And in the first moments after Sam clasped her to him, cradling her body and kissing her hair, her movements had stilled. Her arms had come to rest on his chest…and he'd slid his body in to be closer, feeling Kara's breath against his neck. Emotion had filled his heart, the sensation of her nose nuzzling deeper. He was elated.

The mantra began a split-second later. Sam almost missed the first utterance, but the rhythm became unmistakable: "Apolloapolloapollo." A sudden jerk of her head away from him almost tipped them both sideways—he was so startled he actually found himself shouting "What?" as he scanned Kara's face. But the worst moment came when she changed her mantra.

"Not Apollo…No! NO! Must find…Apollo, where…Apollo. APOLLO!" She'd begun kicking and flailing as she'd screamed the word—that name. Sam recoiled. Dr. Cottle rushed in, throwing curtains open, and ordered Sam to step away. He couldn't hear anything past that point, didn't want to. His heart was mangled; his lungs threatened to cease functioning in mid-breath.

A worried Tory had thought to come for him at that point, to grab Sam's hand and bring him back to her cocoon with Tom. She was in no condition to offer more, but he was grateful she'd even thought enough to recognize his existence. He'd had the strange feeling he was invisible, back there with Kara, and it drained the warmth from all parts of his body. Sam had shivered for more than an hour afterward. It's how he knew what to do when Tory succumbed to her breaking point; Sam had already passed that marker. That's why he wanted to believe he could spare Tory the intense pain, the agony already stiffening him from the inside out, if only he kept her warm.

In the immediate moment, as Sam observed Kara again, moving about in her bed, struggling with the demons once more, he held his body in check. Even at this distance, he could see the mantra forming on her lips. Sam's place would be to offer support from afar, if he was a means of support at all. The weight in his sternum grew with each second of time, until at last he staggered a few steps forward before slumping, doubled-over, at the foot of the bed. He sank against the bed rail, facing the curtain, arms limp against his thighs.

From this vantage point, Sam couldn't see anything but the slight movements of the curtain as the air currents tossed the hem of the fabric in odd undulations. There was nowhere to go, no person who would claim him. He was, unexpectedly, a non-entity. Sam wondered, dully, if he'd be able to find any identity in this new reality—not a sports hero, not a leader of the Resistance, not the man who won the heart of Starbuck. Just a guy who used to have those roles, who used to have a purpose. A guy now with nothing more to do than aimlessly watch the randomness of fate play out.

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**Pegasus Conference Room, Meeting of the RSG, Second Day of Project Restoration**

Helo watched the members of the RSG file into the room. Major Parker, Colonel Tigh, Captain Dualla; Captain Simmons, Lieutenant Valroy, Lieutenant Edmonson; Captain Kelly, Sergeant Kitridge; and Dr. Cottle. It was a deliberate decision, on Helo's part, to exclude the new President from this meeting; she was an unknown factor, and he wanted to maintain the plans already set forth, not listen to a completely uninformed party interject opinions. He had no desire for political games to start at this early juncture. There were too many nascent activities underway, and he needed them to be rooted more firmly before he opened up Pandora's Box.

A shot glass had been placed at each seat around the table. Helo passed the bottle of liquor around, saying nothing. As soon as everyone was ready, he lifted his glass. "Let us recognize our fallen comrades." Other glasses lifted, with a vocal unison of "so say we all" murmured before the drinks were polished off. The group fell into silence.

With a subdued voice, Helo provided an opening comment. "I was asked to lead our discussion, and want to begin by saying how deeply proud I am to be serving with all of you. What we've accomplished is a tribute to human inventiveness, spirit, and will. I know Commander Adama would wish to be here himself to share his gratitude, and his presence is felt, even if he can't be with us physically at the moment."

Dualla interjected immediately. "Sir, I'd like to ask that the Medical Update Report be provided first."

Karl had expected that; the leaders were all anxious about the people rumored to be incapacitated, and the stories from some of the refugees stirred up feelings of intense anxiety. Worries about the future radiated from many in the room.

"Agreed. I'll defer to Dr. Cottle." Helo eyed the man sympathetically; there wasn't a way to soften the emotional blows from the news to follow.

"As you've been privately informed, Tom Zarek died a little more than twenty-four hours ago. One Quorum member survived from New Caprica and was sworn in as Vice-President, then as President. Her name is Meridian Hamathos.

"Admiral Adama is recovering from injuries sustained while imprisoned and tortured. He's been given private quarters, with a medic assigned to him at all times.

"Lieutenant Agathon was seriously wounded, but was also stable enough to be moved into private quarters; the Admiral's medic is additionally responsible for her care.

"We're trying to relocate a few of these senior leaders out of Life Station to provide quiet, easily guarded places for their recovery. Captain Kara Thrace is the third officer who'll be transferred in the next thirty-six hours.

"Captain Thrace was imprisoned from the beginning of the occupation, and there's clear evidence she was tortured. While at present her physical wounds are healing fairly well, she has experienced emotional traumas that will take longer to heal. I'm in the process of tracking down a mental health professional to support the Captain and others.

"We need to accept that a number of people will be out of commission for the foreseeable future. They must be given the opportunity to rest and recover from intense military situations."

The grave looks on the faces of the RSG members reflected Helo's own internal state. Dr. Cottle was providing the clinical, facts-only description of status, and Karl knew, without asking, the circumstances were even more harrowing than the doctor was publicly acknowledging.

"Doctor," Helo urged, "please update us on Commander Adama's condition."

The normally implacable Dr. Cottle seemed to tremble slightly before he shared the rest of the information.

"Lee Adama was critically injured during the mission to extract Captain Thrace. After two surgeries, we were able to stabilize the main wound site—his leg—but infection set in. We've placed the Commander on a heavy rotation of antibiotics to fight septicemia. His condition remains critical and guarded." Cottle stopped there; he wasn't certain how much he should reveal yet. Lee was near death, and fear gripped the doctor to consider what that might mean. He'd become attached to Admiral Adama's son. It was inconceivable, after so many survival successes, medicine would fail Lee at this crucial moment.

Dualla's voice quivered. "Is he…can he have visitors?"

"Yes, but you need to know…there's no easy way to tell all of you. Apollo is in a coma. He was unconscious when he arrived on Pegasus, and he hasn't come out of it."

Even Tigh gasped. "Does the Old Man—does the Admiral know?"

Dr. Cottle shook his head. "Not all of it. That's been one of the most difficult aspects to balance…how much 'reality' some of these people can handle, given their current…conditions."

Helo spoke up to defend the doctor's decisions. "I've fully supported Dr. Cottle's determinations. There's so much to process—the Resistance leaders are reeling from Zarek's death, Roslin being shot, Tyrol's surprising actions, and the basic shock of being back in space."

"How is Laura Roslin doing?" Lieutenant Edmonson asked.

"Are the rumors about Tyrol true?" Captain Simmons interrupted.

Helo sighed, drumming his fingers absently against the table. "Cottle should cover Roslin, and I'll address Tyrol."

Cottle coughed slightly and took a drink of water from a filled glass. "Laura Roslin was shot in the chest. Her heart was damaged, and there were other organs involved. She survived the first surgery. Laura's conscious, but her vocal chords aren't working well, so she can't talk, and she's very weak. I'm waiting for her strength to return to a certain level before we perform the second operation. The Admiral is aware of these details."

Given the heaviness in the room, Helo decided to launch into the next answer. "Chief Tyrol did bring two Cylons aboard. It appears they've defected to our side, though we haven't determined the veracity of their statements. Right now, the two are imprisoned and under heavy Marine guard."

Tigh sputtered, and Captain Kelly shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Tigh wasn't about to be quiet on this count. "What the frak was Chief thinking? Why weren't they airlocked immediately?"

Helo squared his shoulders, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he pushed back slightly to gain a better view of Tigh's face. "Colonel, it was my call. Tyrol claimed—and several of his team members confirmed—these Cylons helped the group escape the armory explosion and find their way back to camp. The Cylons also marshaled many of the supplies we now have aboard our ships."

"We know how deceptive they are. After what they've done—it doesn't matter how many guards are around them, Captain Agathon—they won't live long. You're risking the real possibility of sabotage—word gets out in the fleet there are Cylons being kept alive on this ship, and we're likely to have a bombing on our hands, or worse!"

Helo stood up. "May I remind you, Colonel, we have already had a Cylon with us for some time. She's been a loyal soldier of the fleet—the Admiral himself saw fit to bring her back into our military. And she's my wife." He was grinding his teeth, attempting to somehow tamp down the anger threatening to be unleashed.

Tigh stood as well. "Most of the fleet doesn't know about that, Sir. When they do—"

"For gods sakes, Saul, sit down!" It was Dr. Cottle. "Captain Agathon was granted over-riding authority by Commander Adama; you're in danger of getting thrown in hack with those Cylons if you don't shut the frak up and control your imagination."

Helo and Tigh both took their seats again. With his jaw twitching, Karl surveyed the faces of the others and spoke slowly. "I realize the implications of keeping Cylons alive within the fleet, especially in light of all that transpired down on New Caprica.

"However, it's possible not all Cylons are the same in their intentions. We've seen defections from enemy ranks in Colonial history, and I'm compelled to acknowledge the same possibility exists here, even with this enemy. I've experienced it first-hand, and I'll be damned if I ignore the request of one of our own—a Resistance leader and hero, by all accounts—to evaluate the situation further. Frankly, we have much larger issues to address with our own people, and I'm ordering all officers to keep everything said in this meeting strictly confidential. These are matters of Colonial security, and as such, are discussed on a 'need to know basis.' "

Major Parker addressed the group for the first time during the meeting. "Will the new President be informed, Sir?"

"No," Helo stated quietly. "It's a military security matter. I'll make sure she knows about Sh—Lieutenant Sharon Agathon. That will be sufficient."

"Understood, Sir." The Major didn't appear as unnerved as the other RSG members; Helo appreciated the man's more detached approach.

"Major Parker, I think this is a good time to share where we are with supplies and distribution."

Captain Kelly spoke up. "If I may, Sir, I'd suggest discussing the status of ships' manifests first."

The rest of the group nodded. "Proceed, Kelly."

"First, I wanted to let Colonel Tigh know we're focused on locating Ellen. From what we've been able to track down so far, she's believed to be alive, and was likely in the first group of transports. Those carried most of the former prisoners of the Cylon detention center."

Saul's skin turned pale. "She was at the detention facility? For how long?" The terror was palpable.

"A few weeks, Sir—she was brought there about two weeks before our arrival. I've issued alerts to every one of the ships that accepted the first wave of refugees; hopefully we'll hear something soon."

Tigh's hands were noticeably shaking. "But some of those people were brought aboard Galactica…"

The injured were, yes. It's still more probable your wife is on one of the ships already contacted." Kelly didn't want to give false hope, but something made him believe Ellen Tigh was alive.

Tears welled in Tigh's eyes. He looked down at the floor to regain his composure.

Kelly pressed forward with other details. "The ships' captains have been able to put preliminary lists together. We're posting them in each designated Memorial area, so fleet members can make sure their names are appearing. It appears each ship from the pre-integration fleet has followed through on the commitment of putting computer terminals in the Memorial rooms; people have been providing names of the dead, as known, and of course also posting names of missing family members.

"Since everything's online this time, we'll be able to cross-reference the data and allow individuals to search the directory, though that'll take another ten days to get up and running."

"Excellent work, Kelly." The RSG members gave him a round of applause.

"Commander Adama deserves the credit—these were his ideas."

"Thanks for your service, Captain." Helo didn't know what else to say. The room was quiet for a minute before Major Parker shared his updates.

"Pre-loading the supplies onto ships has worked well. Naturally, we've been busy with re-distribution issues—the loss of Galactica definitely impacted the overall strategy—but nearly seventy-five percent of the cots, blankets, and storage cubes ended up on Pegasus, so we've been able to meet most needs. It's taken longer, given the volumes, but so far, most of the civilians on the ships have been patient. If things stay on current track, we'll have met Commander Adama's 95% goal within the week."

Dr. Cottle whistled. He was impressed with the myriad ways in which Lee's plans had come to fruition.

Major Parker looked at the doctor. "I don't think we've been as successful on the medical front, Dr. Cottle, though I've got several people working on the problems. The medics you trained and placed have all performed well, but the number of cases is outstripping capacity and resources."

"It's the same on Pegasus, Major. I didn't—there are more cases of malnutrition, frost-bite, and disease than projected—I underestimated the severity of conditions on the planet." It bothered Dr. Cottle that he had so many individuals under medical care who were suffering from problems not seen in the Colonies for more than fifty years prior to the Second Cylon War.

"I'm concerned there are no relief teams for the medics," Parker went on. "We've also discovered the supplies—which I realize now must have come from Cylon stores—are labeled differently. There are drugs, salves, and IV medications, but no one can figure out what they're meant for."

"If Captain Agathon agrees, I'd recommend we bring some samples over to Sharon and see if she can make sense of it all. I'm fairly certain the medications will work effectively with humans, once we can make matches with our medical protocols." Dr. Cottle was willing to consider different options to solve the mystery soon; he needed antibiotics, in particular, or more infections would spread between the fleet's ships.

Helo responded. "If I can bring them to her, then I'm sure she'll be able to help. She needs a great deal of rest to heal, so I want to limit the number of people—"

"No need to say more, Sir. I'll have them delivered to your quarters at the time you go off-shift."

"Which brings us to our final item for the time being—CIC and key position coverage." Helo leaned back in his chair, relieved the meeting was nearly over.

Dualla confirmed she was ready to return to active duty. After some discussion, it was agreed Helo, Tigh, Dualla, and Kelly would rotate in the CIC lead positions. Cottle was trading shifts with Dr. Waltham and another physician, Dr. Mercer. Edmonson, Simmons, and Valroy would rotate in the CAG role. Sergeant Kitridge requested Sam Anders be his alternate; despite his lack of military rank, the soldiers all respected him, after the maneuvers on New Caprica. Kitridge hoped to recruit Anders into the Marines now that the fleet was re-integrating.

Helo also volunteered to be the military advisor for the new President, and in this role, he would brief her on the outcomes of the RSG session. At the next meeting, they'd re-define the goals of the RSG and establish a larger joint session with former Resistance leaders. The joint session would include the President, until she was able to execute plans for assembling a new Quorum of Twelve.

Given the time already passed—two hours—Helo deferred discussion of the Memorials. As important as it was to hold these ceremonies, it was almost too difficult to contemplate the implications yet.

Karl also announced he would be assisting the new President in holding the first press conference for the reunited fleet. It was vital to get the information out about the transition of power and share some general information regarding the health status of some of the most recognized leaders. The ad hoc press corps would be arriving on Pegasus within the hour.

As the meeting concluded and the rest of the group exited, Helo leaned forward, arms tented against the table, and pressed his forehead against his palms to relieve the pressure behind his eyes. He was surprised when he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

"Cottle—I thought you'd left." Karl watched the man's eyes, trying to discern what was on his mind.

"There were a few things I didn't want to say in front of the RSG, but needed to confer with you on."

"Sure, Doc…go ahead."

"I haven't told the Admiral about Galactica yet; to be honest, Helo, I've kept him sedated for the past two days because he was so emotionally and mentally spent."

"I didn't realize…but I understand." Helo tried to keep his face neutral, so Dr. Cottle would feel he could continue.

"I know it would help Laura Roslin, and probably Lee too, if Bill came to see them. But I think the Admiral needs someone he knows and trusts there as well, someone he could talk to afterward. I realize many people are placing demands on you, Helo—"

"Don't worry about that, Cottle. I'd be happy to help the Admiral in any way I can. And I want—I need—to see Lee and Kara myself. I'm very concerned." Karl was taken aback to realize how much tension locked his throat when he said those names.

"I'm sure your presence would mean a lot to both of them, even if they can't engage with you yet."

"Kara's not…I thought she was awake…"

Cottle sighed deeply. "I've had to keep her sedated as well, Helo. Gods know what the frak happened on that planet, but I've never seen—it's the same for all of them. Bill, Laura, Kara—I think they may've been tortured by the same Cylon. And he…she—it—was a vicious mother-frakker."

"Even for the people who managed to remain outside the detention center—Tory, Sam, Galen, and Sharon—the conditions must have been nearly untenable. Each one has this haunted…stare."

Cottle nodded in understanding. "All of the New Caprica refugees do. I'm at a loss to know where to start, really, in terms of healing the hearts and minds of our people."

"I think we're doing what we can for now. We're providing security: food, warmth, a place to sleep, a place to grieve, and a means of tracking down the missing. The rest will have to come with time."

"Karl, if I find the psychiatrist who was a part of the medical corps on Pegasus before New Caprica, I'm going to issue orders for the key leaders—military and civilian—to have regular sessions with her. It will be her sole focus—intensive treatment."

Helo locked his gaze with Cottle for a long moment. "That may be bit hard to implement at first," he said softly.

"I'll need your help convincing them. But we may not get these people back—Bill, Laura, Kara, Sam, Galen—unless we can help their souls recover. They're lost in the wilderness right now, Karl—I say that without exaggeration."

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Helo spent the next ninety minutes preparing for the press conference. There would be a live broadcast via wireless, and recordings of the proceedings would be distributed to fleet ships as well, to reach as many people as possible.

It seemed prudent for him to speak for most of the session, as President Hamathos was so new to the role. Neither Tory nor Laura could help her yet, and Karl wasn't sure how much he should share—wanted to share—with the woman just yet.

As he'd reflected on his earlier interactions with Meridian, Karl realized he was wary of her. It was more than simply the fact she was a stranger. And it wasn't something others would immediately sense—the need to be circumspect in her presence. She seemed polite, exuding a certain warmth, though she could be unsettlingly direct in her comments. Helo could have used similar words to describe Roslin. But the undercurrent in her demeanor reminded him of Baltar—there was avarice in her nature, and it was related to power.

Meridian never expected to be in the position she now found herself in, of course; still, Helo experienced the clear vibration of someone with a large ego cloaked by an external presentation of soft confidence. Karl suspected Meridian Hamathos was having an epiphany of purpose. While he had no proof, as he listened to her sharing her background, Helo could detect differences—as though she was tweaking her biography with each conversation. Helo believed Meridian was beginning to rewrite her personal story to explain how the experiences in her life all led up to this moment in time, this responsibility.

There was a difference between true destiny and ideological pre-determination, in Karl's mind. True destiny—decreed by the gods—was almost invariably linked with individuals who were self-conscious, feeling they were in some way deficient or defective. These people had a healthy fear of assuming they were "selected" for the gods' work, and they often needed to be convinced they were sufficient, in and of themselves, to accomplish the tasks laid before them.

Others, like Meridian and Baltar, were driven by ideology or by a strong character flaw to redesign the past in order to make it fit the present, make it fit their longings. They would construct a "lineage" that explained why they had been selected and what the gods were compelling them to do. Baltar sought power through the Presidency because it brought adulation; he rationalized there were no coincidences (which was in direct contrast to his scientific education, but convenient for his personal use), so his ascension to power could be claimed a pre-determined outcome—rather than the egregious pursuit of others' sycophancy.

In a certain way, Karl suspected Meridian's motives were formed from the same cloth, but were also more dangerous. Their purity was also the source of linked darkness. Meridian would rationalize there were no coincidences, as Baltar had, but she would be determined to use the power "for good"—as she defined it. Effective governance rested in the ability to work within the grey and ambiguous space of problems. A successful leader listened to different perspectives, even while holding true to certain convictions, and allowed for the possibility of self-inflicted mistakes. He or she acknowledged the imperfect process involved in interpreting events or predicting the future.

Ideological pre-determination did not permit such flaws to exist. History was re-designed to match the present in a seamless narrative. As the present shifted, the story was adapted—there must be order in the chaos. Randomness—the uncontrollable and unpredictable—prevented absolutes. An ideologue _guarded _absolutes—black and white fixed goalposts that delineated right from wrong, acceptable from unacceptable.

Karl feared how the new President would govern, if his suspicions proved correct. The individuals who might offer counter-weight in the decision-making process were unavailable for the foreseeable future. It would fall to him, as the one who already recognized the danger, to halt the transformation of tenets into rigid dogma.

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"Madame President," Karl spoke as he gestured her into the conference room. "I've prepared an outline of talking points for the press meeting."

"Thank you, Captain Agathon. I'd like to look them over." Meridian sat across from him as she reviewed the document.

"You've left me very little to cover," she mused, scanning the items. "I think it would be better if I made some definitive statements to our people."

Helo, resting his elbows on the table, interlocked his fingers together. "I wanted to give you some 'breathing space,' Madame President, some time to formulate policies and direction through the vehicle of the upcoming joint session. The RSG spent a great deal of time preparing for the re-integration—I'm very familiar with the initiatives for Operation Restoration. The material from Commander Adama's written plan will offer sufficient reassurance to the members of the fleet that there is order and progress being made on key concerns."

"I agree. And I'll certainly discuss those initiatives, Captain. For acceptance by our people, however, the goals and activities shouldn't presented by the military. These are civilian matters best addressed by the President."

Helo balked. Hair follicles stood at attention. He reminded himself he had not—_they_ had not—worked with a functioning President for nearly a year, since Baltar had essentially abandoned his responsibilities at least six months _before_ the Cylon occupation. It was natural to expect a period of readjustment. Karl chastised himself for letting his suppositions regarding Meridian's motives override other factual considerations.

"What additional information will you need, Madame President, to prepare? Which topics will you cover?" Karl's voice was tense but, he hoped, respectful in tone.

For thirty minutes, Meridian marked the talking points she would address, taking notes as Helo answered her questions. He conceded her grasp of the tactical details was impressive. Uneasy, but resolved to make the best of the situation, Helo made quick work of last-minute room adjustments. A knock on the door alerted them the press had arrived.

A group of ten people filed in. Helo stepped out to contact Tigh in the CIC; another five people, carrying equipment, moved into the conference room to assemble the recording apparatus.

Relieved to know situations were normal across the fleet, Karl returned to the conference room. He marshaled his internal strength and walked up to the front of the area where the President was standing. He winced internally at the longing that suddenly filled him—he was missing his friend Lee. They were nearly always in step with each other; the current events would be easier to face with Apollo at his shoulder.

Unexpectedly, Helo's gaze alighted on Dee's face. She smiled as their eyes met and gave the sign for "good luck." He noticed the tension in his back ease considerably.

Karl delivered the opening remarks and asked the press members to hold questions until the end of the formal announcements. He outlined current military activity, including the key individuals rotating in the CAG position and the overall number of vipers and raptors available for combat post-reintegration. Next, Karl walked through the health conditions of the key Resistance and military leaders, limiting the information to "critical," "stable with need for recovery period," and "returning to active status." Finally, he broke the somber news of Tom Zarek's death. All in the room stood still as Karl led them in a short prayer of honoring the deceased. It was time to introduce the new President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.

Meridian Hamathos stepped up to the podium as soon as her name was announced.

"For the people of the Colonies, I accept this responsibility with humbleness and commitment. After a tremendously difficult experience, our spirit remains strong, and we can draw comfort from one another as we move forward in our reintegration process.

I want to assure you I am leading a number of activities to ensure basic needs are met. I've established and appointed a number of people to lead different aspects of fleet operations."

As President Hamathos began detailing the projects—every one of them developed by Commander Adama and RSG—the anger began to percolate in every cell in Karl Agathon's body. He looked to gauge Dee's reaction, and saw her hands strongly gripping her tightly crossed arms.

Lee Adama was literally fighting for his life, and this person was wholly filching his work without acknowledgement. The Commander had personally drafted large sections of the Restoration plan, submitting them for RSG review and adapting the policies to align closely with the Colonial Constitution, while leading one of the largest military operations in memory—all in the span of four months. Every member of the RSG had contributed long hours to manifest the best blueprints for a reborn nation. This woman had taken the document, claimed it as her own, and was already verbally dismantling some of the most meticulously crafted elements. As Karl caught Dee's look towards him, she nodded her head, signaling he should do whatever was necessary to stop the proceeding. In response, he gestured her to walk up next to him. In seconds, Dee was by his shoulder.

"Dee," he whispered while continuing to face the audience, "come closer and act as though you have an important matter to share; make sure your movements convey urgency." She complied.

Helo, who had been leaning over to "hear" Dualla, then stood up and walked straight up to the podium. He knew he should at least give some pretense of decorum, but he was too incensed to give the President any opportunity to refuse shutting down the press conference.

Deftly wedging himself between the President and the podium microphone, Karl employed his best authoritative voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I regret the need to cut this interview short, but Captain Dualla has informed us there's a situation requiring immediate military and civilian collaboration. I know we didn't have an opportunity to take questions, and I assure you a second press conference will be scheduled shortly. Tory Foster will serve as the President's Chief of Staff; please expect contact from her."

He spun around to a speechless Meridian and gripped her elbow with deliberate strength. "Please follow me, Madame President."

Despite the President's relative height, Karl was taller and his stride outstripped her pace. She had to skip a few steps to stay upright and prevent tearing her suit sleeve. He ushered her into the war ready room and shut the door before releasing her arm.

"How dare you handle me that way, Captain! I realize you may be a bit rusty on matters of protocol, but I'm quite certain your actions are rude under any circumstance!" Her voice was raised and shrill.

"And I'm quite sure, _Meridian_—I'll use your title when I think you've done more to earn the respect it should engender—that it is _against_ protocol to claim someone's work as your own!"

"We _agreed_, Karl, these actions relate to the _civilian_ population, and as such fall under the _President's_ purview."

"First, I did not agree these projects were to be led by the President—frankly, you aren't qualified—and the_ joint_ Resistance/RSG leadership will decide what falls under the President's _purview_ in these circumstances!" Helo was six inches from Meridian's body, leaning down to be sure he was at eye-level to add appropriate force behind his words.

Alarmed by this new aspect in Helo's behavior, Meridian shifted her tone and stepped away from him.

In a more controlled voice, she continued. "What's this about? Why are you so intensely angry?"

Karl scoffed. "You didn't recognize the efforts of the many people who sacrificed their _lives_—military and Resistance and civilian—to bring about this rescue. Worse, you appropriated—in whole cloth—Commander Adama's work, our work as the RSG. That document—the steps you felt free to mangle without consideration—represents hundreds of hours of labor by a group of individuals who love and care about the Colonial people. Not 'your people' or 'our people' but _the_ people."

"All of this anger is over a document?" Karl studied Meridian's body language and immediately recognized she was feigning a lack of understanding.

"I'm not sure where you've come from, Meridian, but we should clear up this issue right now: I'm not swayed by pretenses or intimidation. Stop dissembling—it's beneath you."

Her eyes flared and Karl watched her fists clench. She opted for heavy silence in the room.

Karl had more to say. Raising his arm and pointing towards the door, he continued. "Out there, Lee Adama is literally near death. I will not allow his work to be destroyed. The people deserve to know how much he's done for them, his commitment to ensure our 'floating nation'—as he's thought of it—would not be derailed in the aftermath of such a horrible ordeal. If he dies—he has a legacy that belongs to the _Colonials_. You are _not_ undermining that.

"There are others who've sacrificed as much of themselves and suffered significant tragedies to give all of us this chance. The next time you stand in front of a microphone, I want to hear you honor _them_—Zarek, Roslin, the Adamas, Anders, Thrace, Foster, Tyrol, Gaeta, Tigh, Dualla, Sharon Agathon, Katraine, Edmonson, Parker, Kitridge. The soldiers who perished on Galactica. You want to make your mark, you'll do it on your own effort, not off the backs of these fine people."

Meridian Hamathos appeared penitent. The narrowed eyes with contracted pupils communicated the rage beneath.

"I see." She went to say more, then retreated from it.

Helo cleared his throat, his voice a normal pitch again. "I'm going to speak to Tory and see if she can begin her role with you tomorrow. I recognize we need to sort out the assignment of quarters; I'll be spending time on those arrangements this afternoon. I've been aboard Pegasus for a number of months—there're a reasonable number of individual rooms, given the expected contingent of senior officers normally aboard a fully staffed battlestar. You'll have private space by the end of the day."

"Thank you, Captain. In the meantime, I think I'll…I'll review the Restoration Plan with a more enlightened perspective. I'll also pay my respects to the wounded in Life Station."

Helo nodded to acknowledge her statement; he wasn't about to let her think matters could be resolved that quickly. He didn't say anything else to her before she left the room.

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	19. Ch 14: Spectres

**AN: **The last chapter and this one are more character-driven. Our intrepid protagonists have been through a great deal—having them bounce back too quickly after their trials in Section I seemed injudicious. There are as many psychic wounds as there are physical ones, and it was important to begin the emotional repairs, or I feared these people wouldn't be able to navigate their way out of a paper bag…

Important clues for upcoming plot developments are interspersed throughout this chapter, so it forms an essential bridge. The action elements pick up considerable speed (as does the timeline) moving into Chapter 15.

My thanks to those who've read, those who've reviewed, and those who've beta'd—gratitude isn't a big enough word to summarize my feelings. Hope all readers have a great New Year (on whatever date you might celebrate it in your corner of the world!)!

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**Section II. Chapter 14: Spectres **

"_My utterance is mighty; I am more powerful than the ghosts; may they have no power over me."_

_Egyptian Book of the Dead_

_One need not be a chamber to be haunted; One need not be a house; The brain has corridors surpassing material place." Emily Dickinson_

_You've made me a shadowboxer—I wanna be ready for what you do. I've been swinging all around me, 'cause I don't know when you're gonna make your move." Shadowboxer, Fiona Apple_

_************************************************************************************************************_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Life Station, End of Second Day, Operation Restoration**

Exhausted and aching to return to his quarters and his family, Helo nonetheless trudged into Life Station, wanting also to be there for his friends in some way. Dread wrested all calm from his being. He'd heard Dr. Cottle's words echoing in his mind for hours, their meaning making a slow descent from his head to his chest, before sinking deep into his gut.

Helo tried to focus on his faith. He had initiated the Prayer of Colonization with Lee, helped his friend shift his perspective regarding Kara and supported his leader when it was time for Apollo to go to New Caprica and liberate his Starbuck, fulfilling the prophecy of the Priestess. Karl had also witnessed Lee's first divination, providing the clues to find the Eye of Jupiter. Lee Adama had a significant purpose to bring to fruition—Karl was certain of it.

Despite those thoughts—despite the tangible evidence Apollo was meant to survive—Helo was pushing hard to stave off his grief. It might be related to Lee's sudden absence, or the cumulative effect of learning many of the people he cherished had been through so much suffering. Maybe it was the subconscious expression of his guilt in leaving Colonials behind as the EMP weapon fired. However the fear had developed, he was struggling with the need for a sign that Apollo would come through.

Karl's first glimpse of his friend, motionless in the ICU bed, was disconcerting. Lee's right leg was in a suspension brace—he wouldn't be able to adjust his body position on his own—and his skin was sallow. No one previously had the time to shave Lee's face, making his eyes and his cheeks appear sunken in. His breathing was rapid and light.

Moving forward, Helo scooted the chair over sideways to touch the side of the bed and sat down. A female medic approached.

"Hello, Petty Officer Drake. Can you give me an update on the Commander here?"

"Good to see you, Captain Agathon. I'm sorry to report there hasn't been any change. He hasn't regained consciousness. There's been some progress in reducing his fever but the infection's still winning. If certain organs begin to fail, we'll have a tough time overcoming the deficits."

Anger and anguish warred in Karl's chest. "Has he had any visitors?"

"Captain Dualla was here for a little while." Karl looked up at the medic.

"No one else? His father—"

"Dr. Cottle insisted the Admiral wait to see his son until you could accompany him here."

"Gods…I completely forgot. Petty Officer, please have the Admiral brought to Life Station ICU as soon as possible."

"Certainly, Sir."

After the medic left, Helo leaned far forward in the chair, trying to keep his voice low but audible to the man lying nearby.

"Lee…it's Karl. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner.

"That plan of yours has been working like a well-tuned viper in the middle of a dogfight. I'm looking forward to showing you all the targets we hit in the first thirty-six hours—you'll be proud." Karl stopped talking, staring down at his hands.

"Look, Lee, I know you're fighting to come out of this thing. And I know the gods have designs for you, designs that haven't manifested yet. But you—" he swallowed, trying to force the trepidation out of his throat—" you're scaring us, okay? It's time to come back. Right frakkin' now.

"I know how that mind of yours works…maybe you think we're functioning well enough without you. Well, we're functioning, but we need our leader. _Lee Adama_. You hear me? We need you.

"I won't let you flounder in that crazy self-doubt of yours, and I won't let you leave me out here, trying my _damnedest _to ensure your plan is executed as intended, while you retreat further into whatever safe place you think you're in." Helo took a deep breath, his fingers gripped tightly together, knuckles white.

"I can't let you retreat there. Because the truth is, Lee, you're _not_ safe. Your body's starting to fail. And that's not all that's collapsing. The very people you gave so much to rescue—your father, Kara—they're faltering. The job's not finished—recovery is just as important. Come back and give them the one thing they need most and no one else can supply—_you_."

The sound of curtains sliding startled Helo; he turned around to see if the Admiral had arrived. The medic closed the curtain quickly as Bill Adama shuffled into the space.

Bill was in military-issue sweats and looked haggard, his eyes bloodshot. It didn't appear he'd showered or shaved in a couple of days. Bill seemed reluctant to come closer to Lee or Helo; getting up, Karl gestured for the older man to take the chair. Helo was astounded to realize he smelled liquor on the Admiral's breath.

"Sir, I'll look for another chair and be back in a moment."

Chair in hand, Karl flipped it backwards and straddled the seat, trying to keep a respectful distance from the father and son.

"How are you, Sir?"

Bill turned to look at Karl, but his eyes didn't appear to focus. He switched back to face Lee, saying nothing.

Helo tried another tack. "I'm glad you're here. Everyone's been so overwhelmed; Lee hasn't had many visitors yet. I know it'll mean a lot to him to hear your voice."

Bill's shoulders locked; without looking at Helo, he shook his head in the negative.

Stunned, Karl ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what was going on. Why wouldn't the Admiral say anything?

For the second time that day, Helo decided a display of righteous indignation was allowed.

"Hey!" he said loudly, pushing Bill's left shoulder. "Who do you think you are?"

Bill's head swiveled quickly around. His eyebrows were raised over narrowed eyes.

"That's right. I asked_ who_ you think you are." Helo stared down the Old Man, crossing his fingers he could provoke enough of a response to break up the emotional ice floe while avoiding a hard right hook.

"Show respect!" Bill bellowed.

"Sir, you're son's in a godsdamned coma; he has to hear your voice. I don't give a frak if you won't talk to me, but you sure as hell should talk to him. _He _deservesyour respect."

Shoulders slumping, Bill hung his head. "I know."

On impulse, Karl momentarily stood up to reposition his chair and sit facing the Admiral. "You know I admire you, Sir, and didn't intend to be insubordinate. I want to help both of you."

Bill abruptly seized Karl's hand. "It's that…I'm not sure…how many additional losses I can absorb, Helo."

Karl put his hand over the Admiral's briefly. "There aren't words to cover the complexity of these moments, Sir, so I won't try. What I know is your presence means a great deal to Lee."

Bill faced Helo. "I _want_ to be here for him." Turning to Lee, Bill continued, "Karl, thank you for…just, thank you. I'm ready to…I'd like to be alone now to talk to my son."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lee opened his eyes. He was still in the _waiting room_, curled up in the large chair. The Priestess was standing in a corner, praying.

"Did I sleep?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." The Priestess stepped closer to him.

"How much longer will I be here? I…I thought…it seemed Karl was with me. He was saying I'm not safe. And then my father came…told me I needed to wake up. What did they mean? What's really happening to me?" Lee pushed himself out of the chair abruptly, anxiety jolting through him.

The Priestess' eyes pierced through Lee's soul. "Apollo. Do you trust me?"

"Yes." The word was susurrated, yet it seemed to vibrate against the walls in the room.

"Your corporeal form is near death. We did not wish the situation to progress to this point, but Kara is still imprisoned in her terrors. There's time to reach her, but the delay involves risk for you.

"If I send you back now, you'll survive, but Starbuck—as you know her—will not. We want to bring you both simultaneously out of the space_ in between_. Do you understand?"

"Faith." Lee uttered slowly. "It's about faith."

The Priestess smiled, the first Lee remembered. "It is."

Lee sat back down, bringing his knees up and tucking his feet under his legs. "Will I know…know when she's with me again?"

The Priestess assented.

"My body…how much…" Lee couldn't look at her face with that question. He didn't want her to know he was afraid of the physical pain when he went back.

"The mortal form has certain limitations the gods cannot redress. But what you fear—" the Priestess took her hand to turn Lee's head towards her eyes—"it will not be as agonizing as your recovery from the explosion aboard the Eos."

Relief passed across Lee's face.

"Apollo—remember there will always be challenges. The Lords of Kobol will work together to deflect the worst, but some experiences must be owned. We cannot interfere in the events that manifest growth."

Closing his eyes, Lee leaned back into the chair, nodding slightly. Even here in the _waiting room_, he wasn't ready to cope with the future yet, with "challenges" to come. He was so tired…

"Apollo. There is a visitor."

Jerking his head, Lee looked around the room and felt the air rush out of his lungs. Laura Roslin was sitting in an identical overstuffed chair beside him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Cottle was muttering a string of expletives as he picked up several items from a large box resting on the medic station counter. He was interrupted by Tory Foster.

"What are you doing here?" the physician hissed. He wished the people who were ambulatory would stay the frak out of his medical bay.

"I'm on my way to spend some time with our new President. I thought I might find out how the critical patients are doing and brief her on the medical activities taking place on some of the other ships."

Cottle huffed. "Well thank the gods you can start briefing her. Frankly, she's irritating."

Tory wanted to reply that the doctor might be describing himself, but she bit her lip instead. "So I hear. What's in that box that's so vexing?" It would be better to change the subject.

Truthfully, Tory felt as agitated as Cottle. She wasn't honestly ready to return to anything; she'd only agreed to spend some time with President Hamathos out of a sense of duty to Tom. Helo's retelling of the press conference incident didn't bode well for the immediate future of the fleet. Both Roslin and Tom would have been deeply disappointed in Tory if she allowed a leadership crisis to develop when she had the skills to diffuse some of the new President's worst blunders.

Missing part of Cottle's explanation, Tory asked him to repeat his last words.

"Gods, woman, I'm busy—pay attention or don't waste my time!"

"I apologize, doctor." She bit her lip a second time, hoping the bleeding wouldn't be noticeable.

"We've got at least a hundred of these boxes of medicines stuffed into this already cramped infirmary, and no one can tell me what the hell any of them are—what they do, what's in them, if they're even safe for humans. These are supposedly from the Cylons, but Sharon didn't recognize anything and I can't get authorization to talk to—" Cottle hitched his breath, realizing he'd almost revealed the existence of the other two Cylons on board.

Tory picked one item up, not registering anything beyond his obvious consternation. "Well, you're in luck, doctor. I was the 'medical liaison'—such as it was—between the settlers and the Cylons on New Caprica. I know exactly what these medicines are for."

A smile unexpectedly broke across Cottle's face. "This may be the best news I've had in at least three days."

Quickly, Tory explained Baltar's pharmaceutical work and highlighted which of two antibiotic formulas had been found to be more powerful for fast-spreading infections like septicemia. "I didn't realize there was such a gap in information, Cottle; I'd assumed you were already administering this drug to Commander Adama. I'm truly sorry—I wasn't thinking—" Tory was stricken to think Lee might die, when a possible cure had been available all along.

"No, no, Tory. I'm the one at fault—I never even thought to ask the Resistance Leaders."

Palming through a few more vials, Cottle pulled out a small green-colored box. "Did you mention this one?"

"Oh. Birth control. When the Cylons grew weary of our 'co-existence,' they had the bright idea to begin population management procedures. You should find an anti-viral in there too—it was a yellow container. Baltar only manufactured one of that series before he refused to spend any more time on 'low science' projects, but it seemed to prevent or mitigate most colds and flus."

Cottle pulled out a handful of filled syringes and held them up for Tory to examine.

"Guard those syringes, doctor—that's a more potent form of morpha. Be sure to titrate and determine safe dosages. A few settlers tragically died from accidental overdoses before Baltar 'remembered' to point out the formula he'd created was stronger than the version we were previously using."

"I wonder what 'high science' projects he was working on," Cottle said, shaking his head in dismay. Anything associated with Baltar usually led to unethical ends.

Tory lowered her voice. "Dr. Cottle, I'd suggest you explore that question in more detail, and caution Karl Agathon not to wait too long in giving you access to find out. Once Baltar went to live in the Cylon Headquarters—"

"He what?"

Tory gritted her teeth. It was time-consuming to have conversations with anyone from Pegasus or Galactica. There was no way to convey all of the history. In the few days since the reintegration of the fleet, she'd had the sensation, more than once, that the New Capricans were speaking in a different language. In a way, she supposed, they actually were. Phrases, code words, named events—these had all been woven into daily interactions that were never routine and always edged with danger.

For sixteen months—that passed like forty years—the humans planet-side and the humans in space had been forced into divergent, isolated trajectories. Not even a month of constantly streaming discourse would impart the facts. No language would imbue the essence.

With a drawn-out breath, Tory attempted to condense one man's terrible legacy into a few salient bullet points.

"At a point early in the occupation, Gaius Baltar stepped down as President. He may have been forced, truthfully. The Cylon Cabinet—they 'governed' New Caprica at that point—realized Baltar was becoming more trouble than he was worth.

"The Cylons have a substance known as Lethe—it's a mind-altering drug that can become—."

"Let me guess—Baltar turned into an addict." Cottle's jaw flinched in disgust.

"Yes. There's a lot of history we can't piece together, but after Tom assumed the Presidency, he had intermittent contact with Baltar. We were in desperate need of basic medicines, and Baltar was pressured to come up with drug formulas that the Cylons agreed to manufacture in limited quantities for human use.

"Tom wasn't sure what took place after the first pharmaceuticals were produced, but his intel suggested Baltar was taken in by the lead representative of the Cylon Three model—the one we recognized as D'Anna Biers. Before Tom had to go permanently underground with the Resistance, he heard rumors Baltar was tasked with researching Cylon DNA and how their biomechanical processes function. He was also working on solving their 'reproduction' problem."

"Why would the Cylons want him to pursue that kind of research?" Cottle leaned against the counter, as though settling in for a long discussion. Tory needed to cut his questions off, or she'd be very late for her first appointment with Meridian.

"Look, I understand the more you learn, the more questions you have. But frankly, doctor, I'm not here to function as the official historian of New Caprica right now. You're going to have to pick it all up in bits and pieces, like the rest of us. I have to go now to hope to meet the President on time. Will you explain the fundamentals to Helo?"

Dismayed by Tory's abrupt shift in mood, Cottle muttered tersely, "Yeah, of course. Thanks for the help. Good luck with the meeting." He wasn't surprised when Tory didn't bother to respond before heading out.

Seconds later, a yell of surprise and outrage caused the doctor to quickly turn his head. He rushed over to Tory, who was sprawled on the floor, stunned and breathless. Guiding her up to stand, Cottle asked what happened.

"I tripped over something—"

Tory had been walking close to the ICU stations. Both began scanning the flooring; they immediately noticed a hand and forearm sticking out from underneath a curtain.

"Gods, what kind of madhouse are you running here?" Tory said as she stepped to move the drape. Her hand came to rest briefly over her gaping mouth as she realized who was lying there on the floor, at the foot of the ICU bed.

"Sam! Frak, he's ghastly pale…what's wrong with him?"

"Get out of the way, woman!" Cottle snarled as he got onto his knees to check the man's vitals. He slid his stethoscope under Sam's shirt, and nodded to signal he'd found a heartbeat. Cottle listened a little longer to check breathing sounds—Sam's lungs seemed to be functioning as well. Feeling the man's forehead, the doctor whistled under his breath—the skin was cold to the touch.

"I need a medic—stat!" Cottle shouted. Ishay was already standing next to Tory, waiting for the doctor's orders. "Ishay—find a gurney. Grab the electrical blanket for warming, and the parenterals—standard treatment for malnutrition, like we've been administering for others."

Cottle tried to rouse Sam to consciousness, with no success. Tory was savvy enough to remain silent and keep out of the way. The doctor finally remembered her presence and saw the fear and pain in her eyes; he felt compassion, knowing the parallels to Tom would bring difficult emotions to the surface.

"Tory, I think Sam's going to be fine—his body's just overwhelmed. I don't know if he's had anything to eat since arriving on Pegasus, and nearly everyone I've treated from New Caprica is suffering from the long-term effects of malnourishment. If he became dehydrated too—not uncommon during the first days of space travel—and slept on that very cold floor for any length of time…"

Ishay arrived with the bed and supplies. She brought another medic with her, knowing it would take three people to lift Sam. Using a board, positioning it under the unconscious man's back, they successfully transferred Anders onto the bed and promptly wheeled him into an available med/surg station.

As the medics begin the process of changing out Sam's clothes for a hospital gown and setting up the IV drips, Cottle encouraged Tory to leave and carry on with her meeting.

"We've got him, Tory—I'm willing to bet he'll be alert and talking when you swing by later."

Tory's body was so rigid Cottle worried for a moment she was going to topple over. She walked slowly to the head of the bed and lightly placed her hands along Sam's temples, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead, tears pooling against his skin. Standing up, she went to say something, but her lips wouldn't cooperate; all she seemed able to do was repeatedly shake her head "no."

The audible sound of air whistling against teeth caused Tory to stare at Cottle.

"I'll call the President," he said, "and let her know you were ordered to spend the next twenty-four hours here for observation, because I was worried about how run-down you are."

Her eyes even darker with emotion, Tory managed to get out the words "thank you." Cottle murmured in Ishay's ear to appropriate a cot from the ship's supply; he was certain Tory _was _genuinely run-down, her body nearly as close to the edge as Sam's.

Cottle also recognized it was time to acknowledge the psychological problems of some of his patients were as acute as the physical issues. He would need to be more pragmatic in his approach. These people had formed intense emotional bonds, working together to survive harrowing experiences. Emotional connections and alliances existed now that were unknown to him; different people were accorded deference and respect, based on events Cottle couldn't begin to project. If the doctor hoped to keep the key leaders within the fleet functioning—whether from the old structure or the new—he would have to ensure the individuals in his care had support from the people they needed most.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Roslin."

"Captain Apollo." Laura smiled; she didn't understand what was happening, but seeing Lee here was comforting, somehow. "What is this place?"

Lee glanced at the Priestess and then met Roslin's gaze. "It's the _waiting room_—the space in-between. We haven't passed across the Styx."

"Why am I—are _we_—here, exactly?"

Lee raised his arm and pointed to the Priestess. "She'll answer that question."

Laura stood. She gasped as the Priestess faced her. "You…I've seen you in my dreams before." The old woman nodded. "It was you speaking through Hera in the prophecy, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Getting up, Lee stared at Roslin. "You received a prophecy as well?"

"I don't understand. When did you start—"

Pythia stopped her. "Laura Roslin, that is not why you were brought here. I have summoned you to ask an important question."

Laura no longer felt at ease. "Go on…"

Laughing softly, Pythia shook her head. "Always projecting control. Your 'Achilles' heel,' as you might put it."

Laura hung her head. She felt ashamed, though she couldn't articulate the reasons fully.

"The question: do you understand how you strayed from the path?"

Her head still bowed, Laura closed her eyes. "Yes."

"Go on…"

Her whole body suddenly trembling, Roslin looked into the eyes of the Priestess. "Hera belonged with her mother. I created a tear in the tapestry, the pattern. And the pattern revealed the path, but the threads were dropped…"

"Correct." Pythia walked over to Lee and lightly wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Apollo lifted those threads, pulling and intertwining them until he caught sight of the pattern once more. It is he who has the whole in view and he who carries the burden. From this point forward, he leads. You _support_."

Roslin studied Lee. Her mind was reeling; even in this surreal place, it seemed like the ground was shifting under her. A ringing command stilled her churning thoughts.

"Promise him!"

Laura gaped at the Priestess, her tongue suddenly rendered useless.

"I said, Laura Roslin, promise Apollo your fealty." Lee shuddered.

"I promise freely." Roslin felt her voice leap forward.

With practiced ease, the Priestess guided Lee back into his chair and helped Laura as well.

"I must share with both of you one more truth." She looked towards Lee, taking his hand in her own. "Remember what I told you. Some challenges must be owned for spiritual growth to manifest."

Reaching for Laura's hand, Pythia leaned down to speak in Laura's ear. "The poison in your chest remains. Receiving the antidote means accepting the blood of your enemy, given to you by the one who betrayed you. It is a choice. Honor your promise."

Stepping back, Pythia bowed her head. Lee peered into Laura's eyes once more as she evaporated.

Lee reacted. "I want to go_ back._"

The Priestess walked away from him, one word lingering in the air: "Faith."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Karl had been standing at the medic's station, lost in thought after leaving the Admiral at Lee's bedside. It was the alarms that roused him, medical equipment talking in its language of death: _a heart is stopping, a pulse is stilling_. The deep panic that swept through Helo made him feel he was the last defense for something, though he wasn't certain what was required or how he would know what to do.

William Adama came running headlong down the narrow space along the ICU stations, his faced etched with manic fear. Helo sent both of them nearly crashing into a plate of glass as he threw his arms roughly around the Admiral to stop him.

The older man flailed, screaming "It's Laura! Let me go!"

With a surge of adrenaline—Karl was shocked he had any left to draw upon—he hurled the Admiral through a narrow entrance into the glass-windowed office they'd stumbled against the second before.

Cursing the fates for placing him in such a horrific role, Helo used the full weight of his body to pin the other man into the nearest corner. Bill continued to struggle for another minute before shifting his weight; Karl suddenly realized he was the only reason they were both still standing. Slowly moving backwards to continue supporting the Admiral's body, Helo called out for a medic to bring a gurney.

Petty Officer Drake frantically rushed forward with the equipment and helped Karl lift Bill onto the bed. Adama could be heard sobbing.

"We need to move him somewhere private right away," Helo whispered urgently. He didn't think it was a good idea for others to see the Admiral in this state.

Drake shoved the gurney towards an open station and hastily drew the curtains on all three sides.

"Go find out what's happening out there…what patient crashed. I'll stay with him."

For ten minutes, Helo gripped the bedrail while they waited for information. He was deeply shaken by the sight of his mentor curled into a semi-fetal position on the hospital bed. Karl stayed with his chest turned towards the Admiral, making sure Bill would see his face if he opened his eyes; it was the only thing Karl could offer when there was nothing to blunt the psychic pain.

The sound of close footsteps drew Helo's attention.

Drake and Cottle slipped past the curtains. The doctor went straight to Bill's side.

"Bill, it's Jack. Laura's okay. She suffered a setback, but we pulled her through it. It's alright."

The Admiral nodded, but his body didn't relax at all. Lying on his side, Bill's arms were pulled across his torso and his legs remained drawn up, his knees pressed into the bedrail.

"Drake, please stay here. I need to talk to Captain Agathon—we're going to step away for a few minutes."

The two men walked until they were beyond the Admiral's earshot.

"I think I need to keep Adama here again for observation. He's obviously having some sort of mental collapse."

"The Old Man told me earlier…he wasn't sure he could cope with more losses."

"I'm damned both ways," Cottle said with resignation. "Bill's overwhelmed if he's here, but he isn't doing any better in another setting." Karl tried to remember a time when the doctor had seemed at a loss before.

"I'm probably way out of my league, here, Cottle, but if there's a way to let the Admiral stay next to Roslin, it might make a difference."

The doctor lightly gripped Helo's shoulder. "I've been having similar thoughts. Can you arrange for ten or fifteen spare cots to be brought down? It'll be crowded, and not ideal for safety, but there are a number of patients in here who need the emotional support of someone remaining with them."

"I'll make sure you have them in the next few hours. I'll call to confirm from my quarters—I need to get to my family now."

"I understand. Captain, don't forget to take good care of yourself too. No matter what else is going on, make sure you consistently get at least six hours of sleep—it's going to be chaotic and overwhelming for a while. A few more hours of work won't help the rest of the fleet, but a clear-headed acting Commander will."

Helo yawned as he nodded. It wasn't the additional hours of work that pulled at him; it was the time he wanted to spend with Sharon and Hera. He couldn't reconnect with his family when all of his hours were spent either away or asleep.

"Doc, when do you think Sharon can come off the IVs?"

"Tomorrow. And she needs to start moving around, spend some time walking—but she can't overdo." Cottle stuck his hands in his lab coat pockets. "One more thing…"

Karl caught Cottle's eyes, the hesitancy flickering there. "I'd keep a marine with Sharon and Hera if they go out…maybe two marines. The people from New Caprica—"

"Are angry and ready to shoot a Cylon on sight. I know—I've been seeing the reports. The Senior Officers' wing has tight visitor restrictions—so it's been quiet—but there's intel showing small groups are wandering the ship trying to find a way to get past the guards." Helo's teeth could be heard grinding together.

"Sharon's doing well, Helo—concentrate on that. The rest will settle out—we know it's going to take a while."

"Any progress on finding the psychiatrist?"

"Gods…I meant to tell you. I've located her! Dr. Corinne Martin. She'll be arriving on Pegasus in twenty-four hours. We'll need space for her so she can start as soon as possible. It's best if she's located in the Senior Officers' wing, for a number of reasons—can you arrange that?"

"Yes. I've—" Karl yawned again.

"Okay—it's definitely time for you to go home, Captain. We'll sort out the details after she arrives."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_The outside doors…have to lock them all…why are they flung open?_ Kara was racing through a house. It was Carolanne Adama's home…but it was much bigger, with exterior doors seemingly every few feet. She didn't remember the layout, and every time she reached one door, as she was slamming and flipping the deadbolt, she could see_ him_ lurking, slithering in the near-darkness towards the next unlocked entrance.

_How did CylonLee find me?_ Kara's mind frantically jumped to locate the next outside door she had to secure, and the next…_still more rooms to cover. Why isn't Apollo here yet? I've been waiting too long..._

There wasn't time to stop, time to think about why Apollo hadn't arrived or why she was left alone in this house when Apollo _knew _the Cylon was after her.

CylonLee could be seen smiling directly at her through an open entry point only two feet ahead. Kara yelled in frustration and fear as she changed directions and hurtled herself back down a hallway.

_Is there a place to hide? No, no, maybe…maybe I should run outside, see if I can outrace CylonLee. What if Apollo's out there, hurt, and he can't come to the house—gods, that could be why he isn't here…_

CylonLee's running steps were loud against the tile flooring and put Kara into a final panic. She could sense he was within distance to grab her, drag her into permanent darkness. With a frenzied feint, Kara zig-zagged as she swept past the Cylon, aiming for a door that led into a flat yard; she could pick up speed, reach a nearby house before CylonLee managed to capture her again.

Staggering into cold night air, Kara realized she was barefoot; the ground felt like it was sucking all the heat from her body. _When did I feel that way before? When CylonLee was chasing me the first time on New Caprica…_

Kara screamed again. _ "Apollo! Apollo!" _ Abruptly seething with rage that she had somehow been abandoned, Kara growled in desperation. Her feet weren't firmly under her; she was flailing her arms to get her balance.

The sound of metal clanking hard against more metal startled her badly. Kara looked around and realized she was staring at curtains now. _ Life Station curtains_. Gripping the drapes momentarily—her brain seemed to careen against the front part of her scull—Kara glanced at her bare feet. She saw an IV pole still rocking against the floor; she scanned her legs and torso, recognizing she was in an infirmary gown.

_Where in the…is this Galactica? Has CylonLee already drugged me again, or am I back aboard the ship? Frak! I can't think! _

Ragged fragments of memory started to flood her mind. Faces, voices…_Cottle. Helo. Sam_. But were they real? Were these very recent events, or from long ago? And she hadn't heard Apollo's voice, not since…wait. Since CylonLee was killed! _ I shot the Cylon…and Apollo was with me_.

But what had happened next? _My thoughts are so frakkin' scrambled_…_If CylonLee was dead, then the running through the house had been a nightmare. __** I was dreaming**__! But now…the cold feet, the IV pole—that was real, right? I'm semi-coherent, maybe? The floor, the equipment, the curtains—not Cylon. I __**have**__ to be aboard a Colonial ship. _

That meant Apollo was somewhere nearby. And her nightmare, it was about getting her to move, to locate him, because Apollo couldn't come to her, for some reason.

Trying to think clearly enough to act, Kara took another look around. Something struck her—she studied the fallen IV pole again and saw she wasn't currently hooked up to any tubes. _I can walk past the curtains_…

Stumbling forward, Kara managed to push the first curtains aside. Sticking her arms in front of her, Kara staggered past another curtained area. She swept her hand to shift the fabric and saw a woman in a bed; it wasn't anyone she recognized. Hissing with impatience and anxiety, Kara lumbered into a different ICU station. Another person she didn't know. Her feet were on fire—the floor was so cold she was getting that "needles" sensation—and she was becoming exhausted quickly. _ No stamina…_

With three more labored steps, Kara reached the next set of curtains. She leaned her weight hard against the drapes again, half-riding the sliding fabric. Breathing hard, clammy sweat across her skin, Kara grunted to pull herself more upright and turn towards the patient.

_Apollo. _ Very still, very pale—but Apollo.

Kara lurched up against the bedrail so she could let her hand stretch out and lightly graze his face. _He feels real…_Needing concrete evidence, Kara put both hands along the edge of the mattress, her weight falling onto her arms so she could lean forward. Nose barely touching the man's neck, Kara breathed in deeply. Her eyes closed with satisfaction, tears rimming the edges of her lashes. The scent was unmistakable—covered with antiseptic and latex, to be sure, but still _him_.

"Apollo, it's Kara…I'm not sure what's been happening, but I'm here now…I'm _here_. I didn't know where you…had to wake up…gods, so confusing…"

Faint, ready to pitch forward, Kara had to lie down. Grunting, Kara shoved Apollo's body away from the side of the bed where she was standing. The sound of scraping drew her eye to the odd contraption encasing his leg; she frowned, but couldn't reason through what it was for, or why Apollo seemed so lifeless. Her mind was clouding over.

Unable to get her limbs to work with any precision, Kara cursed as she fought with the bed rail, trying to shove it down. On the third attempt, with a satisfying clicking sound, the rail slid out of her way. Clumsily she grabbed the bed covers, tossing them temporarily on Apollo's torso so she could climb in. Whistling through her teeth—her arms were very heavy and hard to move—Kara managed to pull the covers over both of them and yank the rail in place once more.

Shifting her weight to mould along Apollo's body, Kara buried her head into the crook of his arm. Her muscles went limp; Kara had the sensation she was slowly sinking into Apollo's skin, heat finding heat until they were fused together.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"She's with me." Lee was no longer in the square, grey room; he seemed to be suspended in blackness.

"Yes." The voice wasn't from anywhere, but Lee understood it was Pythia.

"You and I won't speak again until I'm standing in the Eye of Jupiter?"

"Correct."

"The darkness…how long must I be here?"

"Don't fear it, Apollo. You are the Sun; you always leave the darkness behind."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Ready Room, End of Third Day, Operation Restoration**

Dee scanned the paperwork for the tenth time. She wasn't making much progress, but time had run out, so she continued laboring over the logistics despite the other worries undermining her concentration. The memorials needed to begin taking place within the next few days, and Dee had volunteered to take the burden from Helo.

The "New Capricans," as many of those who had been rescued insisted on calling themselves, were outraged that no official acknowledgements had been issued. Over eight thousand people had died during the Cylon occupation, most in the last month of conflict. As the realities of reintegration began to emerge, the New Capricans seemed to be filled with anger and resentment, rather than gratitude. The RSG was hounded with questions: why didn't the military initiate a rescue sooner, saving many lives? Why were some ships being kept in Pegasus hanger bays, forcing overcrowding on the other vessels? Where were_ their_ leaders—Tyrol, Anders, Roslin? Why didn't Lee Adama show his face?

The supplied answers didn't pacify the New Capricans. Rumors seemed to triumph over facts. In reality, Dee understood all too well what was needed, and knew such help wasn't going to be forthcoming. If the individuals who represented continuity, trustworthiness, and decisiveness were too incapacitated to address the fleet, it appeared there was no firm guidance.

Helo and the President could offer facts and discuss operations, but they were relative unknowns in this environment. Tigh was more widely recognized as a senior leader, but his past tenure as "Acting Commander" had resulted in a civilian massacre and martial law. He could not instill confidence, despite the fact he was a better officer now.

Dee took comfort in the plans Lee had previously developed; he had anticipated some of the social conflicts and set forth an aggressive timetable for memorials. Lee had also been right in predicting the rapid escalation of group tensions and understood the grieving process wouldn't fully begin until the initiating rituals were honored.

No one had adequately anticipated, however, the almost immediate devolvement of the fleet into various factions. There _were_ well-considered proposals for a "re-soldering of the seam," as Lee referred to it, strategies to knit the disparate interests into a unified whole once more. But

those plans needed sponsors, people who had the passion and vision to carry out actions and influence people to work together. Until those sponsors were healthy enough to step into their roles again, there would be a leadership void.

It wasn't Helo's shortcoming. He was adept; he was often inspirational, decisive, and strong. The work was simply more than one person alone could pull forward. While Dee, Tigh and Kelly had talents to commit to the objectives, none possessed the qualities to match Helo's efforts. The fleet needed the Adamas and Roslin to guide them in a common forward direction.

The wild flutters in Dee's chest when she thought of the Adamas made her want to jump out of her own skin. There was no relief from the undercurrent of anxiety. Somehow, Dee had thought the panicked feelings would abate when the rescue was complete. She hadn't anticipated the scope of the losses. Even though she and Lee were no longer together, it was hard to witness the damage to his body and accept he was in a coma. Her heart reeled in agony.

But it wasn't Lee's condition that frightened her as much. It was Kara's. If she wasn't able to recover, Lee wouldn't either. He'd lose himself in trying to pull Kara back from the mental abyss, and the fleet would pay a steep price for that folly. Dee hated Kara for her weaknesses and her siren-like abilities; still, as much as she despised the woman, Dee understood the pivotal role Kara played in making sure there was a future. Without her, there was no catalyst generating energy and momentum to move beyond the events of the past sixteen months.

Frustrated by her lack of mental discipline, Dee swung her arms across her chest several times to recharge. She chewed absently on the tip of her pen, reviewing the documents for the eleventh time.

The President, Helo, Sam, and Galen would lead the first memorial service for those lost on New Caprica. There would actually be three services: one for the Resistance, one for the settlers, and one for the prisoners held during the occupation.

A week later, memorials for civilians who had remained with the fleet and died during the rescue operation would be held. Within the same period, a memorial for the fallen soldiers and a special ceremony for the Galactica would also be conducted.

Once the lists of the deceased were finalized—three or four weeks from now—a separate service was planned to honor those not previously recognized. Included in that ceremony would be recognition of members of the fleet who died from previously sustained injuries or illness after the rescue.

Beyond those events, a monthly remembrance prayer vigil would take place in the temples across the reintegrated fleet. It would be held at the same time and on the same day in each location, symbolizing unity during the grieving process.

Circling the blank spaces in her paperwork, Dee made a list of tasks and details to be tied down. It was going to be difficult to locate some of the traditional ceremonial items, but she hoped, with some timely assistance from other ships' captains, she could manage to meet expectations.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dr. Waltham was finishing his rounds with the ICU patients. He'd opted to see Lee Adama last, since there were really two patients to check on. Dr. Cottle had informed Waltham that Captain Thrace had been discovered missing, only to be found sleeping next to the Commander. Interestingly, the condition of both patients appeared to improve after Thrace's unorthodox relocation; Cottle decided it was better to keep them together, even if the improvement might be attributed to coincidence, not cause and effect.

Lee remained in a coma, but there were definite indications the new antibiotic was having the desired effect. He had been upgraded to serious but stable condition. Cottle had lowered the dosage of morpha, hoping the young man might regain consciousness within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

Kara Thrace, as Cottle wrote in his notes, "was able to carry a sustained, coherent conversation for the first time since her arrival in Life Station." Cottle had stopped administration of the sedatives. Kara had been "agitated regarding the use of the medications; she reported being 'drugged' for the better part of four months while in captivity on New Caprica, and insisted an order be placed in her chart: _no other meds given without patient's express verbal permission_."

Waltham smiled as he read Cottle's last entry; although he'd never met Kara Thrace personally, her reputation for stubbornness was well-known. Given the personal stories other settlers had shared with Waltham over the last three days, he didn't doubt the truth of Kara's experience. It was probably healthy for her to be able to exert some control over her care, at this point.

The medical scans revealed a litany of physical injuries—it was something of a miracle the woman's body had managed to heal so well. Cottle had carefully noted older skeletal breakages, differentiating them from the more recent torture Kara had clearly endured. Of the cases Waltham had seen in the last seventy-two hours, hers was the most severe. Kara's apparent surgeries and casting repairs were reasonably well-executed, but the fact she had been subjected to repeated cycles of injuries and treatments was alarming.

The physical trauma begged the question of Kara's mental health. Cottle had attempted to take a brief psychological history in his last conversation with Thrace, but she'd deflected his questions. While Kara had been alert and coherent, she was reticent—Cottle hadn't been able to get more than a few sentences out of her, and half of those statements had been questions regarding the condition of her (estranged?) husband, Admiral Adama, and Lee Adama.

A sharp voice caught Dr. Waltham off-guard. "Are you planning on coming in here to check on Apollo, or do I have to drag the body in that goes with those boots I see under the curtain?"

Waltham cleared his throat and stepped around the drape. "Hello, Captain Thrace. I'm Dr. Waltham. I'm here to see how both of you are doing." He put out his hand; Kara didn't move to take it. She didn't return his smile either.

"Have you been awake long?"

"Umm, hard to say—no chrono in here. Probably up for an hour or two."

"Have you seen any signs that Commander Adama might be regaining consciousness?"

Kara looked at him with skepticism. "Isn't that your job?"

"Yes, but I can't observe him for hours at a time. We're in a bit of a holding pattern until he wakes up."

Uncertainty and genuine concern flitted across Kara's face. "I don't know what to look for. He was moaning earlier, like he might be having a bad dream; I started talking to him, holding his hand, and he…I thought he squeezed mine."

Waltham felt a moment of excitement. "That could potentially be good news. It depends on whether or not he does it in response to something, or just at random. Are you willing to help me test things out?"

Kara stood up from the cot, nodding. She was thankful the dizziness had subsided, now that the meds were wearing off. Although her body felt weak, she could at least manage on her own two feet.

"Kara, talk to Lee about something—a shared experience, maybe."

Kara felt awkward—she wasn't used to speaking much since the beginning of her captivity, and she wasn't sure what to say to Apollo in front of a stranger. Eager to see his eyes and hear his voice again, Kara pushed past the emotional discomfort and started talking about the first time they'd flown together after the end of the worlds. Apollo's head appeared to turn slightly towards her voice, and Waltham heard the soft moaning.

"Ask Lee to squeeze your hand if he remembers that same flight." Kara complied, and let out an audible gasp when she sensed Apollo's fingers tugging her own.

The doctor approached the other side of the bed. "Lee, I'm Dr. Waltham. Squeeze Kara's hand if you can hear us." Kara felt the next tug and nodded.

"Good, Lee. I'm going to take your other hand. Can you grip my fingers?" Waltham smiled as Lee responded a third time.

"Welcome back to the conscious world, Commander. I know you're probably feeling exhausted, that your eyelids seem very heavy. Can you open them at all? Don't try to speak; just focus on opening your eyes."

Kara's voice was warm with anticipation as she encouraged Apollo. "I've missed those blues, flyboy."

They both watched as Lee's eyes fluttered. He was struggling to make it all the way to full awareness.

Finally, with a low murmuring sound, Lee managed to blink. He repeated the movement several times before he could hold his eyes open. The doctor leaned in close, a pin flashlight now in his hand. "Wonderful. Give yourself a few moments for your pupils to adjust and focus. Good. Can you see my face? Grip my hand again if the answer's 'yes.'" Lee complied.

"Okay. I'm going to shine a small light into your eyes; keep them open for me as much as you can."

The doctor pulled back, satisfied with the results.

Kara decided it was her turn to lean in. "Can you see my mug?"

A faint smile came to Lee's lips as he nodded.

Impulsively, Kara bent towards Apollo and kissed his cheek. "Gods, am I glad you're awake," she whispered.

Captain Thrace, I need to check out a few other things…"

She looked at the doctor expectantly, then realized he probably needed to walk around the bed. Reluctantly, Kara stepped away.

A flash of alarm resonated in Lee's eyes; Waltham reassured him Kara wasn't going anywhere, just giving the doctor some room.

Completing his tasks, Waltham pulled the chair around to talk to his patient for a few minutes.

"Commander, your body was hit with a massive infection called sepsis. It's taken a while, but the medications seem to have finally turned the tide. You're not completely out of the woods yet—we'll have to keep you on the IV meds for another three or four days—but all of your results show steady improvement. Right now, if things stay on this path, you shouldn't experience any long-term organ damage.

"I also want to tell you about your right leg. We performed two major surgeries after you arrived here, and the leg's healing as expected. There was damage to the bone, however—whatever the chemical was, it 'softened' the bone tissue, severely compromising the lower leg's capacity to bear weight. We can fix that; it requires, however, a third operation. You'll have a fairly long rehabilitation period.

"Assuming the infection's cleared out of your system by next week, We'll plan on carrying out the other procedure, and you'll likely be with us another five to seven days beyond that before we can release you to quarters."

The doctor watched Lee's expressions as he explained the details; it was hard to tell what the man was thinking.

"I'm sure you have questions, but I want you to conserve your energy, so we'll try for a genuine conversation once you've rested."

Suddenly, Waltham realized Lee was now showing signs of anxiousness. "I can see you're worried—do you want to try to ask something now?"

Lee concentrated on forming words. To his relief, the exertion was less difficult than anticipated.

"My father…how is he?"

Waltham relaxed a bit in the chair, understanding now what had agitated the Commander.

"Lee, he's going through a difficult time. He did come to visit you and has been very concerned. I think…whatever happened on New Caprica was very unsettling for him. Since he's been back, many people he's close to have been treated here—"

"How's Roslin?"

"She's doing better today. We nearly lost her, though, at one point. The surgery was successful and she doesn't have an infection. Your father's with her now."

The doctor could see Lee wanted to ask about others but was becoming tired already.

"I'm going to let you rest, Commander. If I'm not mistaken, Captain Thrace plans to stay and watch over you."

Standing up, Waltham lightly touched Lee's arm before turning to Kara. "You need to rest too."

Kara tilted her head to acknowledge the statement, though she had no intention of laying down. She wanted to be able to look at Apollo for a little while, as he slept; after sixteen months, it was a sight she couldn't get enough of.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Senior Commander's Personal Quarters, Fourth Day, Operation Restoration**

Sharon was resting on the large black couch, watching Karl pack up Lee's things. Hera was with Maya, and it was the first time the couple had been alone and awake together for any period of time. Still too weak to actively help in the work, Sharon was grateful she could at least keep her husband company while he went about the task of shifting Apollo's possessions into other quarters.

It seemed disloyal, in a strange way, to move the Admiral into the rooms; from Karl's account, Lee had fully owned his command of the Pegasus in the last months, and these quarters were infused with his presence. Sharon could see her husband was struggling internally with the necessity of his actions—despite military protocol, in Helo's mind, this was Lee's space.

"I guess this is harder than you expected, huh," she spoke quietly.

Karl looked up at his wife, wondering how she always knew what was going through his mind. "Yeah. I know the Old Man will re-assume command at some point, but…"

"…it feels like it's solely Lee's quarters, waiting for his return."

"Exactly. That's why I wanted to pack up Apollo's things myself, to preserve his privacy. I'm going to set up his new space too, so it'll feel like 'home' to him."

"Where did you assign Lee?"

"Well, I opted to bend a few other military rules. Fortunately, Tigh went along with my idea." Karl smiled, remembering the conversation with Saul two days ago. He'd come to think of the man as a friend, and Tigh was happy simply to have his own quarters for some much-needed alone time with his wife.

"Helo! You have to explain more than that—" Sharon said emphatically.

"The XO's space on this ship has its own head, as well as a desk and a nice-sized bed. I asked the Colonel if he'd be willing to take the room normally assigned to the LSO, so Lee wouldn't have to struggle with getting to and from the communal head—with his leg the way it is, having his own shower could make a big difference."

"Good thinking. But I thought _we_ were in the XO quarters—"

"No. We're actually in the room that was designated for visiting VIPs, back in the time when things like that took place on a battlestar."

Sharon was silent for a while as Helo brought a few boxes over to another section of the room and began pulling out items to pack. Finally, she opted to ask the more delicate question regarding quarters assignments.

"What about Kara?"

"Huh?" Karl was lost in the task in hand; he'd forgotten the previous exchange.

"I mean, what about where Kara will bunk? From what you've told me, the flight officers' quarters wouldn't be a good option for her right now, and she—"

"If what you're driving at is really about Lee and Kara, just say so, honey." Helo winked.

Sharon sighed in response. "Okay. Yeah, that's where I was going."

Helo shifted his weight and stopped what he was doing to look directly at his wife. "I'm not comfortable directly meddling in people's personal affairs."

She stared back, her forehead tightening with concern. "I know, Karl, and I—"

"…but I know Lee received a prophecy from Pythia regarding Kara. So I violated my own principles, in this situation, for what I hope is the larger good."

"So say we all," Sharon murmured.

"I have no idea how Anders will take it. Not to mention Lee and Kara, or the Admiral. It's done, though; I signed a 'commanding officer order' to make it harder to undo, at least in the short-term."

"_Karl_…"

Helo laughed. "I'm getting to the details, dear. I figured Anders and Tyrol deserved semi-private quarters, in recognition of their work on New Caprica, so I assigned them a double-bunk room in the Junior Officers' area. They're both emotionally raw from their time on that planet; I thought they could help each other through a rough transition."

"What about Galen's status? You told me about the two Cylons he brought back…will the other officers accept him, under the circumstances?"

"They'll have to. From the accounts I've heard, Galen's efforts were invaluable, even before the Cylons came…he kept up the spirits of the settlers during Baltar's disastrous presidency. During the occupation, he provided leadership, even after he lost…"

Sharon stood up and re-situated herself on the floor, next to her husband. Her energy was waning, but she could tell he was wrestling with the knowledge of tragic events that had befallen their friends and she wanted to offer solace. She wrapped her arm through Helo's and leaned into him.

"You've done a good thing, Karl, recognizing Galen and Sam's contributions. They've both been through some painful ordeals, including loss of love."

Resting his head against Sharon's, Karl sighed deeply. "Which sort of brings me back to Kara. I decided to put her with Lee—I've set up a second bunk in his room. Kara's clearly going to need significant emotional support—whether she admits it or not—and she can help Lee with his physical rehab."

"Hmmm. Logical, but likely to raise some eyebrows." Sharon weighed the information.

"That's bound to happen, regardless. The Admiral won't have too much moral authority to stand on, though, unless he refuses the arrangements I made for him."

"Helo! That's _definitely_ meddling…" a smirk crossed Sharon's face.

"Yeah." Helo shook his head. "I can't believe I actually did it. Logically, though, we have to make sure Roslin's in a protected area, and with the new President, as well as her chief aide Tory, needing rooms in this secured zone too, it was the best way to maximize space."

Sharon nodded, saying nothing.

Looking down at her relaxed face, her head resting on his shoulder, Karl stroked his palm against Sharon's cheek as he bent in to kiss her. Despite her exhaustion, Sharon felt her body tingle with anticipation. Slipping her arms around his neck, she increased the intensity of her response.

A moment later, lost in the sensations of pleasures long absent, Helo eased her along the floor, his body pressed against hers as his hands glided along every curve and indentation. A sharp poke in his ribs reminded him of the boxes around them. Raising up on his knees, Karl hastily shoved them aside before falling to her once more, moaning as he felt the warm crush of her lips. The feathering of her fingers underneath his shirt drew shudders. When he heard her cry out softly, his reason left him. He'd wanted to make love to her slowly, tenderly, let her know the longing he'd experienced every day she'd been gone. Now his blood flared too hot; he was consumed by the need for her, and his normal self-control failed.

Sharon was in the same state. She had worked Karl's pants open and was frantically pushing the fabric past his hips. He groaned as she brushed against his erection; instinctively he bucked against her, burying his face into her neck, breathing heavily. Shifting his weight, quickly easing off her clothes, he called out her name in awe as he thrust inside her. The sound from Sharon's throat intensified the urge to drive to his climax, but he wanted desperately to hear her come first. The way she said his name—wet in his ear, the "l" drawn out, lingering resonance traveling deep into his chest—he'd craved that moment of complete connection with her.

When Karl brought her over the edge, he followed immediately afterward. The potency of the release radiated into every cell in his body. Collapsing beside Sharon, he wrapped his arms around her frame to envelop her, savoring the intoxicating softness of her hair as he burrowed his face into the sleek strands.

After Karl was able to breathe regularly, he cradled his wife, raising himself up on an elbow to gaze fully into her dark eyes.

"I don't ever want to be separated for that length of time again," he said fervently.

Sharon ran her fingers along his jaw as she shook her head in agreement. A tear dropped from the corner of her eye.

"Hey," Karl whispered as he bent to kiss her wet cheek. "We're home now, and that's all that matters."

More tears slipped. "It's just…"

Karl tried to read Sharon's face, a deep anguish emanating from somewhere he couldn't reach. "Go ahead, my love—tell me what's so painful." He brushed his palm slowly along her hairline.

"I understand…I recognize why other people need you so much right now, Karl. And you've come into your own as a leader—it takes my breath away to witness how much you've transformed since I was gone. But I'm so…so _angry_ to have to share you. It's selfish, I know it is, and I can't help it. No matter how irrational, I hate all of the hours apart. I'm overwhelmed with the strength of it, the _needing_."

She was unable to continue; Karl's lips covered her own and he kissed Sharon until they were both gasping for air.

Breaking away, Helo weighed his words, letting his eyes communicate before he uttered anything. "You're _not_ irrational or selfish. I'm torn apart every time I step past our threshold." He rested his forehead against hers.

"When we planned the rescue operation—in all the scenarios considered—not once did we imagine so many key people would be out of commission. I discussed a number of possible outcomes with Lee and Saul; we thought it was possible the Admiral might be injured, or Apollo, but not both. Losing Tom, finding Laura critically injured and Kara tortured—we didn't believe that many leaders would be simultaneously taken out.

"There hasn't been time to explain to you what's taken place with Lee over these months. But I witnessed—was_ a part of_—his initiation by the gods. He's the one from the Chresmologue, Sharon. The Leader of Colonization. And because of my heritage, my mother…"

"…you were the one to start the Prayer. The gods chose you to carry it out." Her voice was hushed.

Karl pulled up to stare into her eyes again. "I respect Tigh and Dualla. I also respect Kelly and Edmonson. But my role is different, Sharon. Lee entrusted overall command to me, and I have to honor that. He crafted a long-term reunification strategy…he has this vision for the future of the fleet that will inspire so many others. It's on my shoulders to make sure we stay on course until he can bring it to completion himself…explain it to the Admiral, to the President, and to the people."

Sharon responded. "Let it be on _our_ shoulders, Karl. I can help you, even if it's behind the scenes."

"I want you to heal, and Hera—"

"Look, I know what you're really worried about. I'm a Cylon, and that makes me a target. But I don't honestly think I'm any more of a mark now than I was before, and the others in the Resistance will vouch for my integrity with the 'New Capricans.'"

Karl rolled onto his back after her admission, and they lay there in silence for a minute. "I want you working with me, Sharon. And you can protect yourself—I know you don't have to have me there. But you have to _promise_ you won't push your body too far too fast."

"Done," she said with conviction.

Turning on his side, head propped up in his hand, Helo rubbed light circles along her torso with his free arm. "I want to set aside time, every week, to talk about our experiences while we were apart. My mind rushes with things to tell you every time I see you; I hate the jumbled mess of fragmented stories that tumble out of my mouth right now."

Smiling deeply, Sharon nodded. "The same thing's happening to me. So we'll find a way to do that."

With a sigh of reluctance, Helo sat up. "_First_, I'd better finish the job at hand."

"In the spirit of not overdoing, I'm going to crawl into the bed here and sleep for a little while…"

"A good idea." Karl helped Sharon stand and they rearranged their clothes. Once she was settled into a nap, Helo went back to boxes and packing. He was filled with a satisfied calmness that had escaped his grasp for a long time, and the liberated energy—no longer tied to worry— propelled him through the rest of the work.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Junior Officers' Quarters, Fourth Day, Operation Restoration**

Sam collapsed in the chair inside his room, surprised at his body's apparent betrayal. They had only walked from Life Station to the Junior Officers' private wing, but his legs felt rubbery beneath him. He was grateful Tory had come along and carried the bag with his personal belongings, or he might have been in even worse shape.

It took a moment for Sam to look up and survey the room. He saw boots and a photo that suggested Galen's presence, though the man wasn't currently there. The beds were on opposite walls, with a desk in between; beyond the foot of each bed, against the wall nearest the door, two comfort chairs were arranged. A small table, next to the chairs, rounded out the room, other than some shelving and lockers. Sam had to admit it was the most hospitable place he'd lived in since the Second Cylon War.

Tory set the duffel on the floor, then took the other chair, moving it slightly to face Sam.

"So what do you think?"

"It's good…better than I've had in a long time. I know I'll appreciate the privacy too; I only lived on Galactica a short time before Kara and I relocated to New Caprica, and I remember craving a quiet place when we were aboard the ship."

Looking at the chrono, Tory rubbed her face lightly and stood up. "As much as I'd prefer to stay here, I need to get going. I've got to brief the President on her role in tomorrow's memorial."

Sam winced. "Damn, I'm supposed to come up with something to say for that!"

"Don't worry, Sam; it doesn't have to be formal or long, just your natural thoughts. I'll be back in three hours, and we can go over it when we hit the mess hall." She smiled warmly.

As Tory walked past Sam, he grabbed her hand, stilling her movement. "Tory…I don't know how to thank you. Staying with me like that while I was in Life Station—it's been rough, being back aboard ship, and I want you to know you've really helped me."

Squeezing his hand, Tory held Sam's eyes for a long moment. "Believe it or not, you've helped me too, Sam. I was feeling very…isolated. There's no one else I can talk to right now who was there, who appreciates—"

"…What the whole experience was like, especially the last six weeks when we all lived and fought so closely together."

"Yeah," Tory said softly. "So I'll see you for dinner?"

"Absolutely." Sam forced a grin; he couldn't feel it, but he knew she'd worry if he seemed too melancholy.

Once Tory departed, Sam got up and lifted his duffel onto the bed. Opening his locker to start putting things away, he was startled to find another bag already stuffed against the sides. Amazed to think someone had found more of his things, Sam pulled it out with a swift tug.

The bag was filled with his and Kara's belongings from New Caprica.

He wondered at the wisdom of looking at anything touching on his life before with Kara, but a part of him wanted to remember.

Sifting through the items, Sam wondered who had packed this other duffel. It held little things, mementos, in addition to clothes and shoes. A piece of paper caught his eye. He didn't recognize it. The document was old, with a few odd stains and any number of wrinkles; despite the wear, it was clear the owner had carefully preserved the paper through various transits.

Sam's hand was trembling. He wasn't sure how he knew, but this paper was going to reveal something about Kara's past. Sam was certain the document belonged to her, and she'd managed to keep it tucked out of sight during their whole time on the planet. It had to be something she treasured solely as her own.

Opening up the folds, the handwriting wasn't familiar to him. It seemed to be written in verse, like a poem. _A love poem. _

"_There's a letter on the desktop, that I dug out of a drawer; the last truce we ever came to in our adolescent war…"_

His throat suddenly felt too large for his neck. Swallowing hard, Sam still found it difficult to breathe. He read through the rest of the lines, and lingered over one in particular, until it pounded an uncomfortable rhythm in his head:

"_Of all my demon spirits, I need you the most—I'm in love with your ghost."_

Damn her. Damn her! The line fit in more than one way—describing how he felt about Kara, and how she felt…he couldn't bring himself to admit it, mouth the words and make them real. A tumultuous shift was taking place in Sam's heart, an acknowledgement of something he'd known but hadn't wanted to face for a long time. Forcing himself to deal with a painful reality, Sam whispered the thought aloud: "This is how she feels about Lee Adama."

"What are you talking about?"

The voice startled Sam badly; he jumped off the bed. "Frak, Galen! You really needed to warn me you were at the door—"

"Sorry, man. I could tell you were involved in something, so I hesitated, but I live here. Besides, the look on your face suggests you could use a friend, or at least a drink.'

"Well, I can't deny—" tears suddenly clouded Sam's voice.

"Let me get you that drink." Galen went to his locker and pulled out a bottle. He handed it to Sam. "Take a good, long swig."

Tilting his head back, Sam swallowed the liquid until he was choking on it. Coughing, he handed the bottle back. Galen drank a long pull himself, then sat on the bed across from Sam.

"So you wanna tell me what you're reading there that hit you so hard?" Galen's eyes were kind as he asked the question.

"Frak. I'm not sure _what_ I was reading. Something that belonged to Kara…something she found important and I never knew existed. I'm beginning to think that applied more often in our marriage than I ever realized."

Galen chuckled, though he wasn't laughing at Sam. "Look, no one ever figures out Thrace. No one. Not even the Adamas, though they invariably try."

Sam looked up at Galen, an eerie, haunted expression in his eyes. "What _is it_ with Kara and the Adamas? What's in their shared history I don't know about?"

Rubbing his face and studying the floor, Galen took a minute before responding. "I'm no expert on those three…Helo could tell you more. I'm sure you've heard the story about Zak, his death, and the Old Man offering Kara a spot with the Galactica pilot group."

"Yeah—which really doesn't tell me how Lee fits in."

"Are you really sure you want to know those details, Sam? I mean—"

Sam shoved the poem into Galen's hand. "You tell me. Wouldn't you want to understand?"

Reading it, Galen whistled softly. "Damn, no wonder you were shaken up. This is pretty heavy-duty stuff. The handwriting is definitely Apollo's—I can confirm that much for you."

"So how far back do things go with those two? The paper suggests…"

"…that they were emotionally involved a long time ago."

"Or lovers." Sam hung his head. "Can I have another swig?"

Galen handed him the bottle. "Well, there were always the rumors on the ship, but I didn't believe them."

"Why not? You saw how they related to each other."

"See, that's the thing, Sam—I didn't. No one aboard Galactica did, until after the end of the worlds. Helo will tell you—those two didn't have any contact after Zak's death. Hell, Apollo wouldn't set foot on his father's ship—it took a nuclear holocaust for those two to be in the same room together for any length of time."

Sam closed his eyes, the pain in his chest unabated. "Then this thing was written before then. It looks old enough."

"What's all of this about, Sam? She married you; that paper represents the long past, no matter how you look at the words."

"Because my name isn't the one she calls out when she's in pain, Galen. I can't comfort her. Hell, I couldn't even rescue her. A-_poll_-o did."

The bottle was passed again. "Sam, a lot of crap happened down there. Kara…it's clear she went through a lot. You can't read much into her current behavior, at least not yet. You don't know—"

"I know she screamed in Life Station for _Apollo_, Tyrol. I know she shoved me away when I tried to hold her, and I know she's sleeping on a cot next to his bed in the ICU right now." Sam stood up, agitated. The sensations in his chest were escalating to agony.

A heavy quiet filled the room. The bottle passed back and forth several more times. Finally, Galen decided to speak again.

"I know there aren't words that provide much comfort, Sam. The anguish—loving someone who's pledged to someone else—I'm familiar with that. Seeing those two people every day, wondering what emotions must have been just under the surface, what you didn't see, what transpired in the past when you weren't around…it makes you frakkin' insane with jealousy and regrets."

Sam looked hard at Galen's tense face. "But you found a way past that…marrying Cally."

Galen shook his head. "No, Sam—I didn't find a way. I…I tried to make the best out of the hand I'd been dealt. I loved Cally…but it wasn't a deep connection, a partnership. Hell, I can't even admit—"

He took a long pull from the nearly empty bottle. "I've missed Nicholas. But I haven't…I can't…gods, I feel so frakkin' evil! I don't think about her, I don't wish I'd had more time with her…is that frakkin' twisted, or what?"

Sam was at a loss as to how to respond. He'd never thought much about Tyrol's relationship with Cally—they'd been together from the time he arrived—and he could see, if he imagined past interactions, that they seemed comfortable with each other, rather than in love. Was that how he and Kara appeared to others?

"Don't beat up on yourself like that, Galen. You offered what you could; Cally accepted it. I'm…I wish there was a way to help you with your burdens, man. I mean that—you deserve more and you sure as hell deserve better luck."

Galen smiled, though tears were streaking his face. "Thanks for that, Sam. But you don't even know the most frakked up part of it all."

"So tell me. Your secrets are safe here—I'm not the kind to judge another man for much."

Tyrol nodded. "It's her…Boomer."

"One of the Cylons you brought aboard?"

"Yeah. I'm weak, I know that; I shouldn't believe a word out of that thing's mouth. Except it's her mouth, Sam—Boomer. The Sharon who loved _me_, wanted to be with _me_. And all that's still there. I can _feel_ it. Both of us."

"Have you seen her since…since your arrival on Pegasus?" Sam knew Galen was in a dangerous position with this Cylon, given current sentiments in the fleet regarding their oppressors.

"Nope. Too afraid. It would draw suspicions, place her in greater danger…me as well. I hate it; every night I fight the urge to run down there. And I'm never totally certain what I'd do. Sometimes I think—I think I'd hit her, then throw her on the floor and frak her senseless. They'd have to pry me off her, 'cause I'd never let go afterward. I wouldn't have the emotional strength to do it."

"That's…it's a lot to keep bottled up, Galen." Sam studied his friend with deep concern.

"Tell me about it." The liquor was finished off.

"Look, we're both pretty drunk right now. Tory's coming back in another two hours…I need to sleep some of this off, and it wouldn't hurt you to do the same. Tomorrow—if you want—I'll walk with you to the jail cells, so you can talk with this Boomer. No one will dare attack both of us…we led the Resistance on New Caprica, and the others in the fleet know that. There'll be talk, but nothing we can't handle."

"Gods, Sam—I would really appreciate that. Thanks, man. How can I return the favor?"

"See if Helo will tell you anything about the_ illustrious past_ of Lee Adama and Kara Thrace. 'Cause my marriage may be over…hell, it may never have been built on a good foundation. And I wanna understand why."

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Senior Officers' Personal Quarters Wing, Fourth Day, Operation Restoration**

Saul Tigh relished the feeling of his new bed. He missed the Galactica, but he had to admit the accommodations were better on this ship. He was sure Ellen was appreciating the benefits of a firm, plush mattress.

"What're you thinking, Saul?"

"How wonderful it is to be in this comfortable bed. Gods, woman—I've been lost without you." Tigh buried his nose in her neck, kissing her playfully.

"It's really good to be home, Saul. I thought…I didn't believe I'd ever make it out of that place alive."

Tigh held her more tightly against his body. "Forgive me, Ellen. I never wanted to leave you there. Lee had to throw me in hack for disobeying his orders."

"Shhhh, love. I knew you'd try to come back for me. But those Cylon bastards…they play with your head, make you doubt everyone and everything you believed in. It was so…I can't get the images out of my head. I close my eyes, and I still smell the stench of that cell, the wails of the people in the detention wing…"

Tears welled up in Tigh's eyes. "Frakkin' toasters. I only wish more of them had been destroyed back there." He felt Ellen's body shift as her head fell heavy against his arm. She was obviously ready to fall asleep. "Go ahead and rest, Ellen. I've got you—no one will harm you again."

She murmured his name as she slipped into unconsciousness. Though tired, Saul knew he wasn't able to close his eyes yet. He wanted to stare at his wife's face, savor the sensation of holding her.

Saul was uneasy; the woman with him now was a subdued version of the ball of fire he thought of as his Ellen. She didn't talk very much, and startled at the sound of metal clanging against metal. Her once-lustrous hair was falling out, due to malnutrition; it was dull and brittle. Saul's fist clenched when he thought of how proud Ellen had always been about her blond tresses, knowing she cringed every time she saw herself in a mirror right now. He vowed to make things as comfortable as possible for her aboard this new ship. It would be hard to arrange, but he'd find a way for them to spend more focused time together. It would take some coaxing to get her formerly fiery soul to re-ignite.

Saul thought about the few stories Ellen had shared so far. She said she helped the Resistance by providing care to the wounded and the sick. He marveled at that, how strong she'd been—there was a time his wife would have fainted at the sight of blood. Tory had apparently supported Ellen as often as she could, bringing her extra food or another pair of warm socks.

It was Tory who had planned to take Ellen to the Cellar on the day of the hangings (it took Saul a while to piece together what had happened, but he finally understood how horrible that time must have been, with Gaeta and Cally's deaths the fighting breaking out afterward). Tragically, Ellen had become separated from the others in the pandemonium. A Cavil had grabbed her and thrown her onto a truck with many other settlers; she'd been imprisoned for the rest of the time on New Caprica.

The Cavil model had taken a keen interest in her, apparently, though he beat her repeatedly when she refused his sexual advances. Ellen swore the Cylon hadn't raped her, though Tigh had a hard time accepting that—by others' accounts, the Cavil model was particularly ruthless. Ellen said she managed keep her wits about her by singing songs she and Tigh used to love to belt out while drinking. Nothing blocked out the pain, however.

When Ellen had first made it to the Pegasus, Tigh had taken her to Life Station right away. The doc had given her some pain meds and explained she needed to have two bones reset; her left upper arm bone had grafted incorrectly, as had her right lower leg. Both would need to be re-broken and casted. Cottle suggested the procedures be done in a couple of weeks, since Life Station was full and Ellen needed time to become readjusted to ship life.

Tigh had gratefully agreed with the decision, wanting Ellen with him. From the time he first saw her get off the transport, Saul understood his wife needed caring human contact, reminders of the path with him that could make her life whole again.

With the painkillers, regular movement was tolerable for Ellen, and she was already improving in the two days since she'd arrived. Cottle had allowed Ellen to settle into their private quarters with IVs by the bed, which meant Tigh could look after her personally.

He instinctively hugged his wife before he closed his eyes too, thankful she alive and in his arms at last.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Life Station ICU, End of Fourth Day, Operation Restoration**

Lee woke up and was surprised to see his father and Kara near his bed. The Admiral was alert and actually smiling; Kara was asleep on a cot close by.

In a low voice, Bill asked how Lee was feeling.

"I don't know yet. I'm not in pain…I guess I'm doing alright. Doc must've me doped up on the good stuff." Lee turned his head towards his father.

"And you?"

Bill narrowed his eyes, then looked at the bed, rather than Lee's face. "I'm…better now. The Cylon, Leoben, used a drug on me—on several of us—that scrambled thoughts, memories, and dreams. It's had some long-term side effects."

"He used it on Kara and Laura?" Apollo's voice was tight with anxieties; they seemed to multiply every time he was awake.

"Yes, Son. Cottle thinks the symptoms dissipate slowly, but will eventually disappear."

"How's Laura, Dad?" Lee reached for Bill's hand, hoping to get him to look up.

Hesitantly, the Admiral met Lee's gaze. "She's improving, or so they say. Lee could tell, by his father's disconsolate look, he wasn't reassured. Unsure of how to comfort his father, Lee just held his hand for a moment. Other questions flooded his mind.

"I wish I could find out more about what's been happening…it's unsettling, being in the dark like this. I'm not sure how I even made it back to Pegasus, and I want to know who survived…and who I should mourn." Anguish washed over Lee's face.

"I'm…I don't know that much, Lee. Things have only started to sink in with me over the past twenty-four hours. From what Cottle and Helo shared, Kara flew you back in a raptor. You were unconscious by the time she reached Pegasus, and have been in a coma until a few hours ago.

"According to Helo, during the last moments of battle, the Galactica was destroyed, losing many of her crew. I haven't seen the list of the deceased; I wasn't ready to face…the depth of the costs—"

"I'm sorry, Dad." Lee was lost in somber thought for a moment before asking, "did Dee and Tigh make it?"

"Yes, thank the gods. They're safe and back on active duty already." The Admiral wondered how Dualla ended up on Galactica, but thought better of asking Lee that question yet.

"And what about Kat and Racetrack?" Apollo hoped he kept the tremor out of his voice.

"Oh…I'm not sure. I think…wait…I remember something else Helo said. Racetrack was alternating CAG duties with two other people—names I didn't recognize. I haven't seen or heard anything about Kat."

A sudden pain overwhelmed Lee for a second, as he understood what his father's simple observation implied; he closed his eyes and used his hands to rearrange his covers, hoping to mask his reaction. With a pang of guilt, Apollo looked over at Kara, thankful she still appeared to be asleep. He let out a long exhale, then abruptly changed the subject. There would have to be time for private grieving later.

"So are you still confined to Life Station, or has Cottle let you escape?"

The conflicting emotions on the Admiral's face had Lee wondering again what had actually been happening while he'd been unconscious for so long.

"I'm getting released today, but not returning to active duty for a little while yet. They're moving me into the Senior Commanding Officer's quarters." Bill paused; he felt uncomfortable displacing Lee when he still wasn't medically cleared to assume command. He was also leery of what it would take to receive that clearance. Cottle was insisting Bill talk to a psychiatrist, some Dr. Martin. He'd made it plain Bill wouldn't be able to resume his duties until Martin approved. Unwilling to discuss that with anyone yet, Bill offered another explanation to his son.

"Lee, I don't want you to think…I know it isn't the best time, but Helo's been focused on providing a secured private wing for all of the senior officers and the new President."

"_New_ President? Is Tom—"

Bill shook his head. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, Lee—he didn't make it. The Resistance leaders are all taking it pretty hard…I am too. Helo officiated the swearing in of a former Quorum member, Meridian Hamathos, as the new President."

"_Line in the sand_," Lee said under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Her name—it roughly translates to 'line in the sand.' Not an auspicious name for the leader of the Colonies."

"I don't know anything about her; she's supposed to lead the first memorial service tomorrow."

Something else his father had just said suddenly registered in Lee's mind: "_Helo's been focused on providing a secured private wing."_

"Dad, what did you mean about 'secured' private quarters? What's Helo worried about?"

Bill rubbed his face and leaned in, elbows against thighs, arms falling to tightly gripped hands. "Some of our people have started splintering into factions. There's so much pent-up rage…and no way to diffuse it. Already, threats have been made against senior officers and the new President…no serious attempts, but a security detail's been assigned to protect them."

Closing his eyes, Lee tried to wrap his mind around the idea that the people he and his team had worked so hard to save were now ready to kill their rescuers.

The men silently kept each other company for a few minutes, letting the recent revelations sink in. Lee could make out the other sounds in Life Station as he lay there—carts rattling against the floor, machines pinging, conversations buzzing. He concentrated on identifying each noise, until his thoughts cleared. Finally,Lee decided it was time to make a confession to his father.

"Listen, Dad—when you were gone, I borrowed…well, I brought over a number of things from your quarters on Galactica."

Bill's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Whatever for?"

"It helped me think. Motivated me when I was tired or frustrated."

The Admiral realized what his son's actions meant. "So some of my belongings…they're here, on the Pegasus…"

Lee nodded. "Books, the model ships, a few photos. I even—" Lee hesitated to admit the last item he'd "borrowed" from Galactica—Tigh was furious when he found out about it. "I took the 'Admiral's ship' painting."

Eyes growing wider, Bill asked "the one above my desk?"

"Yeah. That one. It seemed to represent you best…it reminded me of the lessons you'd taught me."

To Lee's shock, his father's eyes welled with tears. "Gods, you know don't how much…I was really upset to think I'd lost that." Bill's voice was barely audible; he wanted to say more, let Lee know how it affected him to learn his son wanted reminders of his presence, but Bill was afraid he'd fall apart again. It was difficult enough to acknowledge he'd been so bereft; Bill didn't want to risk another breakdown in front of others.

A female voice drew their attention to Kara's cot. "What'd I miss?"

"Hi, Kara. Good to see you awake. I was just bringing Lee up to date on a few things." The Admiral stood up from his chair. "I'm sure you'd like to talk to my son, now that he's finally alert. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to check on Laura." He leaned over, letting his hand rest briefly on top of Lee's head. "I'm glad you're doing better, Son. I'll be back later."

Kara realized she should probably invite the Old Man to stay, but she didn't. Kara needed to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to Apollo alone. Not that she had a plan for what to say, or even the courage to begin talking; her thoughts were topsy-turvy, moving faster than her lips could process. But Kara had determined she was going to start something moving. Somehow. With Apollo. For Apollo. For _herself_.

"Hey, stranger." Apollo's voice vibrated in her chest; she closed her eyes to relish the sensation.

"Hi. Glad we're both finally awake at the same time." Kara moved to the chair on the other side of the bed.

Apollo studied Kara, his eyes alive with depth of feeling. She felt the warmth flush her cheek under his gaze, and silently thanked the gods she was still able to experience _that_.

"I hear you got us aboard with some of your fancy flying," Apollo finally said, his voice hushed.

Kara shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Actually, I was pretty rusty, but we arrived in one piece. Landed the bird…must've been a good flight." She gave a small smile.

Apollo noticed there was still no light in Kara's eyes, but he had to remember it would take a long time for her to overcome All of Leoben's mindfraks.

The awkwardness lingered; it wasn't the atmosphere between them as much as the struggle to talk about small things when it was the big things they were grappling with.

"I'm sorry about the leg injury, Apollo. I told Doc to leave the rehab to me—I'll get you back in the cockpit."

The earnestness in Kara's voice moved Lee deeply, but he was surprised how much he missed Kara saying his first name, even though he understood the reasons well.

"I'd appreciate the help, Kara." His jaw twitched in protest; there was too much being left unsaid, and no clear way to get over the barbed wire, step around the landmines, and find passage to trusted common ground.

His mind latched onto a memory…when the two were standing outside that cabin so many years ago. Kara had the same earnestness then, and the conviction she could help pull Lee through his pain. He knew he couldn't make the same mistake again—he would need to trust her, let her in. The question was, would she do the same?

Abruptly, Kara leaned close to Apollo until their faces were only inches apart. She held him in a piercing gaze. He thought he detected a glimmer in the hazel depths, embers that could be stoked into a warm fire. He tried to remember to inhale air and keep his mental footing; he never could remain focused when she was in this proximity to him.

"That was a 'balls to the wall' rescue you pulled off, _Commander_. Thank you." Kara's voice wobbled slightly.

Lee wanted to hold her face in his hands, let his fingers linger in the supple layers of her hair. His lips were primed to kiss her; he involuntarily shivered as the electricity traveled down his spine. So familiar. Tantalizing and unrequited. He was only a day past his walk along the river Styx, still weak and unable even to stand, but there it was. There _she_ was—some part of his life force walking around outside his body.

What happened next was nothing short of astounding to him: Kara calmly, slowly wrapped her hands around Lee's cheeks. He stopped breathing.

Kara never fully touched someone's face. Never. Light, brief grazing of the fingers, hand movements mimicking the warm hold of palms against skin—but always suspended a fraction of an inch away from actual contact. He tried to read her eyes; he was searching for a clue in yet more undiscovered internal territory.

Kara leaned in further. She kissed Apollo's left cheek—moist, caressing lips holding in place for a moment—then kissed his right, before gliding to his temples, his forehead, and his eyelids. Lee quivered. He leaned his head backward on instinct, and his lips parted so he could take a few rapid, skimming breaths.

Allowing her fingertips to slide forward, Kara began gently massaging Apollo's temples. In a few minutes, she'd grasped the back of his neck, letting her head fall to his collarbone. He could feel the gentle brush of her breath against his skin.

Lee's hand floated into her hair, sliding through the fine strands in long, repeating sweeps. He kissed her head and leaned his cheek against her ear. His arms fell into their rightful places along her back and waist; hearing her contented sigh, he pulled her closer.

It was more than he could have hoped for, this gesture from Kara. Lee still had no idea what had happened to her in the intervening months, and he was well aware he couldn't interpret her current behavior as a permanent shift in their relationship. No passage across Kara's internal terrain was without challenges and setbacks. But if she was able to be this vulnerable with him now, it meant she might be able to keep a conduit open. He could reach her. She might let him in.

Some time passed. Lee fought the need as long as he could, but at last he had to yield to the exhaustion. His body felt like it was always on the verge of giving out; he wondered how he would have enough in reserves to weather a second surgery later. Lee tried to say something, to let Kara know he was falling asleep, but he faded before a single word was uttered.

Kara sensed Apollo's body sinking backward and realized what was happening. Gently, careful not to wake him, she extracted herself from his still-wrapped arms and pulled up the blanket to cover him. Tears began forming rivulets down her face.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Junior Officers' Personal Quarters, End of Fourth Day, Operation Restoration**

Alarmed when no one answered the door chime, Tory paced in front of the hatch to Galen and Sam's room, trying to determine what to do. Sam had still seemed a bit worse for wear, physically, when she'd walked him back to these quarters. It was possible he was in a deep sleep, unless he'd forgotten about their plan and left for the mess hall already. _Or he could be lying on the floor, needing medical attention again_…Tory cursed under her breath. She had more important things to attend to—worrying about Sam Anders wasn't her job—so why was she even standing there thinking she needed to do anything in this situation?

They_ were_ genuinely friends. She still remembered taking care of him at the Cylon hospital after his heart stopped. Tory had stayed with Sam over the last couple of days so he wouldn't be alone. Honestly, so _she_ wouldn't be alone either. But push had come to shove, as far as obligations she had to fulfill on her own—moving into her own quarters, preparing for the memorial taking place in less than twenty-four hours, and figuring out a way to re-establish some kind of routine regarding the President's responsibilities.

The Hamathos woman was eager to establish a central theme for her administration, assemble a new Quorum of Twelve, and begin making policy. Tory had little time to corral this person into a structured environment or to provide context and guidance to steer Hamathos towards well-considered decisions. Right now, the woman was a bit of a loose cannon—sincere in her desire to help the Colonial people, but too focused on her own ideas to see the bigger picture. Hamathos didn't seem to know how to collaborate, or she didn't appear to have much desire to do so. Tory figured the other leaders—from the RSG and New Caprica—would get into screaming matches with the President in a matter of days if Tory couldn't persuade Hamathos to revise her approach and make sure the President grasped the broader scope and long-term impact of certain actions. She prayed the woman was actually coachable.

Tory reached for the chime one more time, then thought better of it. If she hurried, she could bring something from the mess back to her room and make it through all of Dee's notes on the memorial in the next two hours. That would give her another three to draft talking points for the President on several pressing issues. She'd manage to catch enough sleep to be fully functioning for tomorrow's big event. With a sigh, Tory turned on her heels and headed out of the area.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sam was lying on his side in his bed, eyes open. He felt very guilty, knowing Tory had come for him and he was deliberately blowing off their plans. It was the shame he was carrying; he didn't want to have to explain how drunk he was or what had driven his behavior.

Given Sam's health condition, Cottle had specifically prohibited drinking, at least for another week. _"You can't get dehydrated or tax your liver right now,"_ he'd said. Considering how putrid Sam was feeling in this moment, he was wishing he'd listened to Cottle's advice.

Staggering to the head—_I would have been a spectacle in the mess hall, walking like this_—Sam was relieved when he finally just threw up. The heaving lasted twenty minutes, until his knees were stiff, but afterward, as he took a good shower and cleared his mouth of the sour taste, he felt renewed, somehow. Just acknowledging his pain aloud to Galen had lifted some of the weight from him. It was time to return the favor.

Shaking Tyrol awake, Sam spent the next two hours getting him sobered up and presentable. They rehearsed what Galen might say to Boomer when they visited her cell. Sam was friends with two of the guards on shift; they'd been part of the Resistance activities on New Caprica. He called in a chit to gain access.

The two men were escorted to Boomer's cell, passing the other Cylon, Caprica, two rooms away; the distance was clearly meant to prevent the women from interacting. In a cell along the other side, three rooms away from Boomer, was Baltar. He was imprisoned in the space originally constructed for the other Sharon model. As they walked along, Sam caught the bandages covering Baltar's head, as well as an arm cast and bruises all over the man's face. He wondered if Baltar had been injured during his capture, or "injured" during his imprisonment.

Once they reached Boomer, Sam pushed Galen to talk to the Cylon alone. He hung back, keeping conversation with (and distracting) the guards, so Tyrol might have some real privacy. Sam hoped, for everyone's sake, Boomer didn't turn out to be an enemy agent who'd fight to escape and pose a threat to the fleet.

Galen walked softly inside the barred area. The disbelief on Boomer's face was obvious; what was less noticeable, except for someone who knew her as well as Galen did, was the relief.

After exchanging greetings and attempting awkward small talk, Tyrol gestured for Boomer to sit. The room was bare, save for a cot with pillows and covers as well as two standard issue chairs.

"We had a glimpse of Baltar, and he looks pretty banged up. Are you alright? Have they done anything…"

"I'm fine, Chief. No one's been by to _chat_. I don't think they know what to do with us yet."

Chief stretched up, looking away as he took in a deep breath. He let his hands slide down his thighs to his knees, changing his gaze towards the floor. A second later, with a single shove, he moved his chair close to Boomer; their knees were now almost touching. Voice at a whisper, Galen cast furtive glances at Boomer as he spoke.

"You're right. I can't share details; assume there are several significant priorities ahead of you at the moment."

Boomer nodded. "How is Caprica? The guards won't tell me anything."

"She seemed okay, appearance-wise. I don't know more than that."

"Galen—" Boomer went to put her hand over his, then pulled back, afraid of what the guards might think was happening. "I know you're taking a risk coming to talk to me. You can't know how much I…it's been very difficult, being cut off from all contact or news."

He looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry. Maybe…maybe one of Sam's friends would be willing to pass a few bits of info along. I'll see if there's any options."

"You would…do that?" Boomer's eyes were anxious. "Look, you can't put yourself in more danger on my account, Chief—"

"I won't." His voice was curt, harder than he meant it to sound; Boomer shrank back in her chair.

"I didn't mean…frak, this is so hard, Sharon. It's kinda crazy out there, and me, I'm just pretty…my head's a frakkin' mess."

"What did you come here for, Chief?" Boomer sat with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes glaring. Galen knew this subtext too; a subtle twitch in her lower lip told him she was willing herself not to cry, using the anger to keep her head up high.

He rubbed his eyes and tilted his head back to the ceiling, exhaling loudly. "I want to know why. Just…why." He leveled his head, meeting her glare.

"Why? I'm afraid you'll have to give me a bit more than that, Chief—I'm not a mind-reader, just a frakkin' Cylon." She gave a bitter grin.

His eyes narrowed. She was mocking him, and it was probably fair—he had too many questions, so he cheated and asked an all-encompassing one.

"Why Cally and Nicky? And after that, why in the frak did you help us?" His voice was audible now and his hands were shaking.

Boomer's eyes warmed slightly with compassion. "Caprica and I didn't know about the planned murder of Cally and your son. There've been…there _were_ disagreements among the model representatives in the Cylon Cabinet. D'Anna and Cavil came up with the idea. They deliberately kept us in the dark; we couldn't protest until it was too late."

"But you condoned the hanging of the others, of Gaeta? Is that supposed to make it better?" Galen stood up, pacing.

"Caprica and I were being watched by the others in the Cabinet. They suspected our original connection to the humans was corrupting us, that we were becoming human sympathizers."

"Well, there's no danger of that misperception coming up here," Galen sputtered.

"I don't expect you to understand or accept my answers…I can only tell you what was true at the time." Her voice was muted, heavy with tears. Reluctantly, Galen looked at Boomer's face. She was ashen.

"Do you want some water? You look—"

"Don't act like there's some deeper caring, Chief. Obviously, our role—_my_ role—in the death of your family pretty much closed that door, as if shooting the Old Man hadn't already sealed my fate."

Galen sat back in the chair. "Damn you, Sharon Valeri. It's not that clean. Or don't machines understand the tension of competing emotions?" He was still angry, but his voice was laced with melancholy too.

"_I _understand, Galen." They studied each other in the quiet. A rap on the bars broke the suspended moment. Sam was at the door, waving his hand urgently. "Tyrol, man, we need to get out of here. The shift's changing, and I don't trust the next guys coming in."

Still looking hard at Boomer, Galen whispered again. "I'll try to get someone to pass you news…and send some books or paper, something you can do to make the time go by."

Pausing, the next words came out in a surge of breath. "Think about what you and Caprica can offer the fleet, Sharon, what you can bargain with. Helo'll be willing to protect you for the time being, but he can't keep the mob from pounding down the doors if there's no reason for…just come up with something. I'll get here again, when I can."

With a quick grasp of Sharon's hand, Galen stood and turned to face Sam. "Let's go."

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Main Cargo Deck, Fifth Day, Operation Restoration**

Karl Agathon was nervous. The last time he'd physically faced this many people—gods, only two weeks ago?—Lee was the one making the speech. And that was in front of a relatively receptive, optimistic audience.

With this crowd, the anxiety, uncertainty, and grief seemed to permeate his skin. He had goosebumps, warning of a potentially dangerous situation with the assembled New Capricans. Karl tried to eliminate that thought; these were_ Colonials_, part of the fleet, not a separate group—despite their current attempts to focus on differences.

The guests for the Memorial had been chosen by lottery, using the current manifests, twenty people per ship. It took more than four hours to ferry them all aboard Pegasus. The rest of the Colonials would participate by video feed; Dualla had arranged for the basic ceremonial items to be made available for the captains to use in leading their other passengers through the services.

For obvious reasons, Sharon wasn't able to attend. Lee remained in Life Station, as did Laura Roslin. Helo had strongly argued for the Admiral's inclusion in the officiating of the memorial, but Cottle was concerned Adama wouldn't be mentally prepared to face such a large crowd so soon. Tory was equally certain people would ask questions of—or worse, voice accusations towards—the Admiral, which might be overwhelming, under the circumstances. Bill didn't have details regarding the actions of the space-side fleet during the four months of rescue preparation, or even the facts for the New Capricans regarding the last few weeks of the Cylon occupation. He wouldn't be able to defend or explain different perspectives and actions. Reluctantly, Helo had to agree it was better for the Admiral to remain out of the public eye.

Sam and Galen were already in place, standing nearby, waiting for final instructions. Dee and Tory were bustling around the dais, preparing the podium for President Hamathos. Kelly, Tigh, and the three co-CAGs were huddled on the far end of the stage, conferring with one another.

Arms behind his back, right-hand fingers wrapped around his left wrist, Karl walked over to Sam and Galen. He didn't want to pass by the President, concerned she would pull him aside to nag him about setting up the next Governing Council meeting, the name finally chosen for the blended leadership group from the previously separated Colonial populations. Helo was hoping the Admiral would be able to join that session, and was delaying the scheduling as long as possible to ensure Adama's attendance. In the meantime, it was easier to avoid the President.

As Karl reached the other two men, Tory approached them too. "We're almost ready to get started. I realize I'll come across as over-engineering this, but I'd like Helo to stand in the center of the dais, with Sam following, then Galen. Tigh, Kelly, and Dualla will be similarly arranged on the other side of the President. The CAGs opted to mingle in the first row; I think there's some worry the crowd could get unruly."

Helo wanted to nod in agreement, but refrained, knowing it was better to keep his concerns to himself. "Tory—how's the President handling her first official ceremony?"

"She's a bit on edge, but projects confidence. I think Hamathos will perform well today." With a warm smile, Tory wished the men well and stepped away to signal the beginning of the memorial service.

The President began with the sacred rituals to honor the dead. A Priestess intoned the prayers as Hamathos carried out her responsibilities. Afterward, a small singing group launched into several hymns. Dualla provided a reading of from the Scrolls of Pythia, followed by Tigh offering a short statement about courage in the face of death.

Sam's comments followed. He gave a moving speech regarding the heroic actions of many in the Resistance, bringing many to tears. As Sam finished his statement, he scanned the space, the hair on his neck standing up—something seemed amiss. The sorrow in the room should have been quiet, unifying the people in shared grieving; instead, the air was charged with almost palpable anger. He saw tense faces, eyes filled with rage—it wasn't universal, but enough people were upset to cause a scene, if they chose that path.

Unable to explain his perceptions, Sam continued to scan the crowd as he stepped back into the line on the dias. Just as Helo moved forward, Sam caught the rapid advancement of an unknown man in the crowd. The person started yelling "Cylon Lovers! Die, you frakking traitors!"

"Get down!" Sam screamed. His reflexes took over as the adrenaline pumped through his system. Grabbing Galen's shoulder, Sam managed to yank him to the ground in one swift motion. A split second later, he was diving towards Karl, tackling him as the first shot rang out. More gunfire followed. Loud, confusing sounds pounded Sam's eardrums as a crowd of nine hundred people began scattering. Disoriented, he strained to distinguish voices in the cacophony.

Tigh's booming yell cut through the noise as he ordered Marines and other military officers to take specific actions. Moans in Sam's earshot told him one or more of the people on the dais had been hit. He made out Tory's voice, frantically trying to get the audio and video feeds shut off.

When Sam was sure he didn't hear any other weapons fire, he raised his head to assess the scene visually. In the far distance, Kelly's body was prone and still. Dualla was leaning over him, probably trying to determine how badly he'd been wounded. The President wasn't in sight—that could be interpreted as a good omen, since she'd have remained on the stage if injured. Tory was talking on a phone, probably calling in the medic team.

A loud, close moan startled Sam to slide off Helo's body. He realized, with horror, a saturated pool of blood was forming on the carpet. Anguished, Sam screamed for medical help.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	20. Ch 15: Soldering the Seams

**Section II. Chapter 15: Soldering the Seams **

"_We are confronted with insurmountable opportunities." Walt Kelly_

"_Nobody can tell you if what you're doing is good, meaningful, or worthwhile. The more compelling the path, the more lonely it is." Hugh Macleod_

"_You creep up like the clouds, and you set my soul at ease. Then you let your love abound and you bring me to my knees. Oh, it's evil, the way you let your grace enrapture me." Shadowboxer, Fiona Apple_

_************************************************************************************************************_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Life Station, Fifth Day, Operation Restoration**

Lee was listening to the audio feed for the memorial service, as many in Life Station were. The area had been subdued and quiet, many patients and staff murmuring prayers as icons were clasped to chests.

Kara had nearly dropped her icon earlier when Apollo went to place the carved form of the goddess Aurora into her hand. Her gaze had darted between the icons resting in his lap—the Sun and the Sea Nymph—and the one in her palm. Finally remembering to close her mouth, she had paused a beat before asking bluntly, "Apollo, what are _you_ doing with icons?" Lee had promised to explain the history to her once the service had concluded.

As Sam gave his remarks, Lee felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he struggled to avoid staring at Kara. He wanted to gauge her reactions, assess where things seemed to stand. The recent discovery of her full-arm marriage tattoo had set Lee back a bit; it was a permanent claim of possession Kara had apparently willingly accepted. Lee tried figure out what aspect of Kara he'd missed—he would have sworn to all the gods she would never allow herself to be branded. Perversely, he hoped it meant she was trying "too hard" at the time to convince herself of the value of her choice.

Towards the conclusion of Sam's comments, Lee could hear the sounds of people in the audience crying. Daring a glimpse of Kara at that point, he was surprised to catch anger in her features. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, but the words were chased away by the realization he was listening to weapons fire. Gasps and exclamations started around Life Station; Lee could barely hear the subsequent sounds over the speaker before the audio was cut altogether.

Kara lurched out of her chair. Lee managed to grab her arm before she dashed away; he knew she'd try to go to the storage deck. "Kara, I know you want to do something. _We_ need to do something. So, please, listen to me for a minute, because it's important we choose our next actions with care."

A strangled cry of frustration escaped her throat, but she nodded in agreement.

"Find Laura Roslin. Hopefully my father's with her…tell them we need to go directly to the Pegasus Bunker. I'm the only one of the four of us who knows the way. He'll need to order the Marines outside Life Station to grab four troops to escort us there.

"Apollo, you can't leave; you have to have—"

"Kara, we _cannot _argue this right now. Every minute counts…please trust me. I need you to be my wingman, and that means we have to act together—no debating, no hesitation. Will you help me?"

She nodded again.

"Tell one of the medics to bring me a wheelchair—Commander's orders. Locate Ishay; instruct her to get to the storage deck and ensure Tigh, Dualla, Agathon, and Tyrol also reach the Bunker. They'll need Marine escort too—we can't take any chances."

"What about the President? She'll need—"

"There's a different protocol for the President of the Colonies; Tory knows what to do. She'll get Hamathos to the secured location and contact us in the Bunker."

Kara turned and sped rapidly past the ICU station. She passed the medic Drake, rushing towards Apollo's bed. "Drake, the Commander needs to see you ASAP." Two Marines were also pushing down the main aisle through Life Station. Kara shouted and pointed them in Apollo's direction. She scrambled to reach Roslin's area.

The Marines and Drake appeared in front of Lee at the same moment. "Sit Rep," Lee said, groaning as Drake guided him to a sideways sitting position, his casted, braced leg dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

"Reports are conflicting, Sir. Best intel—shots were fired directly at the stage. Captains Agathon and Kelly were injured in weapons fire. President was unharmed. Wounded expected to arrive in Life Station within five; total collateral damage unclear. First shooting suspect apprehended."

"There was more than one gunman?"

"Cannot confirm, Sir."

"We are initiating Lockdown Protocols, by authority of Commander Leland Adama. I need to speak to Kitridge." Drake yelled for another medic to come in as she navigated the unwieldy leg brace and helped Apollo climb into sweats.

One of the Marines handed a portable receiver to Lee. "Kitridge?"

"_Yes, Sir. We're starting Lockdown?"_

"There's no choice. Block ships from departures or arrivals. The fleet is likely already aware there's been an incident; send a priority one message to the ships' captains to freeze all travel and await instructions. We'll broadcast in one hour."

"_Understood."_

"There's been a report Captain Agathon was wounded and will be here in Life Station. I want no fewer than ten troops assigned around the clock to guard this location, and we'll have to begin security checks. No one enters or leaves the area without direct authorization from Cottle or Waltham. As soon as his condition is stable, Agathon is to be brought to the Bunker."

"_Understood."_

"One more thing; Sharon Agathon and her child, Hera, are in their quarters. I want them relocated to the Bunker too. New Sit Rep in fifteen minutes." Lee handed the receiver back to the Marine and looked at Drake.

"I need you to come with us. I'm not sure we'll manage without a medic—"

"Happy to go, Sir. Let me help you into the wheelchair."

Lee turned to his father who was now standing nearby; Roslin was in a wheelchair beside him. "We'll be safer where we're going, Admiral." Bill nodded, remaining silent.

The small group, flanked by Marines, made its way to the interior of Pegasus. No one said a word as they moved hurriedly towards their destination.

Internally, Lee was working to process his emotions. He was horrified at the unfolding of events. It would never have occurred to him that the Colonials could turn on one another in this way, barely a week past the rescue. And Helo…gods, it wasn't possible to accept the ramifications. With concerted effort, Lee managed to slow his pulse and collect his thoughts. He had precious little adrenaline to call upon. If he didn't pace himself, he was likely to pass out in the middle of the briefing soon to follow. The only way to get through the next twenty-four hours would be short bursts of work, followed by periods of rest. It might also be necessary to cut back further on the morpha, even though Lee dreaded the pain that could surge soon afterward.

As the group reached the hatch to the Bunker, the Marines swept the area. When finally inside, Lee asked for Drake to situate Roslin and himself on two of the three couches located in the front open area. Kara and Bill took up two comfort chairs across from them.

Lee directed the medic to check on supplies and set up some of the longer-term equipment he and Roslin might need to rely upon. He encouraged his father and Kara to look in the cabinets for bottled water and food.

"What is this place?" asked Roslin.

"It's called the Bunker. This battlestar was designed for extended deep-space battles; a second senior officer crew would rest here and rotate to relieve the primary leadership." Lee tried to adjust in the couch to a comfortable position; his leg felt like it was cast in lead.

"It's stocked…you used this during the rescue mission?" Roslin seemed impressed.

"Immediately afterward. It's very well-designed; all the main computer feeds run as a redundancy through here, so we'll be able to monitor what's going on throughout the rest of the ship."

The sliding gears of the hatch alerted the group to new entrants. Sharon and Hera were ushered in.

Lee smiled warmly, knowing he needed to be reassuring. "Glad you're both here safe and sound."

Sharon scanned the faces in the room. "What's happened? Where's Helo?"

The Admiral walked over to put an arm around her. "We don't have a lot of information yet…we heard a commotion over the audio feed. Something happened at the memorial service. Shots were fired."

Sharon's eyes turned to stare at Bill's. "What..."

"Karl was injured. That's all we know; he's on his way to Life Station. Cottle was part of the response team, so he's in the best hands. As soon as it's possible to move him, Sharon, I promise you, Helo will be brought here."

"I need to be in Life Station! Apollo, what was the point, bringing us—"

Lee tried to make his voice sound matter-of-fact. "Sharon, there are reasons to believe this is linked to the New Caprican faction that has been very angry with the military."

"You mean, angry at 'Cylon-lovers'?" Her tone was bitter.

"As a pretense, yes. Sharon, they're raging over many things…focusing on Cylons is the surface explanation."

"Lee, you don't have to patronize me. I was there, on the planet. I helped free…them…" her voice betrayed the conflicting emotions of hurt and fear beginning to wash over her.

Bill kept his arm tight around Sharon, walking her to the third couch in the space. He gestured to Hera to come sit with them. The little girl was silent as she climbed onto the seat and took her mother's hand, stroking it lightly.

"The other Cylons aboard…what have you done to protect them?" Sharon looked at Lee.

His mouth dropped open, and different expressions of disbelief flickered across the faces of the others.

Sharon closed her eyes. "Gods…things continue to move too fast. Helo hasn't been able to tell you?"

Apollo studied Sharon intently. "Cylons were brought aboard, at the time of the rescue?"

She nodded. "It was Tyrol. He and a group of Resistance fighters claimed two Cylon models helped them escape and bring back materials—food, munitions, medicines. Tyrol refused to exit his transport unless Karl agreed to keep them alive."

Roslin hissed, "Chief brought two of those monsters aboard, and Helo allowed—"

Before anyone was aware of what was happening, Sharon had leapt from the couch and struck Roslin hard across the cheek. "After all that's happened, you…you bitch!" She screamed at the former president.

Roslin dropped her head in her hands. Bill changed couches to put an arm around her. No one spoke.

At last, Bill looked directly at Sharon. "If _our_ emotions are running this close to the surface, imagine what it's like for others in the fleet. For the time being, let's make sure the Marine contingent is large enough to prevent incursions into the brig. _Anything_ else will be decided later. Laura—I need to know you agree too."

"Yes…of course. Sharon, I apologize." Her voice was light and genuinely pained; it was clear to the rest of the group she regretted her outburst.

A second sound of turning hatches announced further arrivals. Tigh and Dualla entered, followed by Tyrol. Lee immediately noticed the blood on Tigh and Tyrol's uniforms. "Sit Rep," he said quietly.

"Is there any liquor in this place?" Tigh asked almost absentmindedly. Lee shook his head 'no.' "Frakkin' figures." He sank onto one of the nearest bunks, leaning against the frame. Tyrol chose to sit on the floor. Tigh spoke again.

"The _situation_, Commander, is that Captain Kelly is dead. He wasn't the direct target, of course—the President, Helo, and Chief were. Sam managed to haul this one's ass—" he pointed to Tyrol—"to the ground, and then threw himself at Karl. The bastard shooter got off a quick one, though; Helo was hit, but I don't know how bad."

Tyrol added his thoughts, keeping his gaze on Sharon. "Karl was conscious and able to stand. Sam half-carried him to the medics, then handed him off. Sam's headed to help Kitridge."

"What about President Hamathos and Tory?" Lee's strength was fading already, and he had to make an all-bulletins broadcast before he collapsed into a bed.

Dualla spoke up. "A Marine yanked the President backwards, into the curtains and down a back set of steps. I saw Tory following; I'm assuming they made it to the designated safe room."

"Ana…glad you're alright." Lee's voice was tight with emotion. "Can you check the comm, see if we've heard from the safe room?"

As Dualla stepped behind them, Drake was looking at another panel. "Captain Agathon's in good shape," she said excitedly, relieved there was positive news. "Cottle expects to send him here shortly."

Lee took a moment to mouth, under his breath, the words of a brief prayer of thanksgiving. When he opened his eyes, he realized Kara and his father were both staring openly. He sighed. "It's a long story…" Something akin to admiration seemed to hover in Kara's eyes as Lee caught her gaze for a second longer.

A loud buzzing noise had them all immediately anxious. "What the frak?" Tigh exclaimed.

"Gods, it's the all-points broadcast! It must be Hamathos—" Lee's observations were cut short by the sound of a woman's voice cutting through the air.

"_My fellow Colonial citizens, this is President Hamathos. As many of you probably heard while listening to the memorial service today, there was an outbreak of violence during the ceremony. I assure you I am safe. I do not know about the injuries sustained by the soldiers. _

"_Like many of you, I am appalled by the facts being revealed to me regarding the presence of Cylons among us, Cylons guarded by our military. I cannot in any way condone terrorism, and repudiate the actions taken by extremists today. However, I share the deep concerns voiced by this group of activists and promise to fully investigate their claims. _

"_Further, as I am unclear as to the loyalties of certain of our military leaders, I am exorcising my authority as President to suspend all military activity beyond the fundamental purpose of protecting us against enemy attack._

"_What happened to us on New Caprica was abhorrent. The military, and those who remained in space, who jumped away in our people's time of need, will be asked to give an accounting for their actions. I share the pain of those who mourn the loss of so many fine Colonials, and recognize we must do much more to acknowledge the suffering of New Capricans. _

_I will broadcast to all of you again tomorrow. At that time, I'll announce the formation of a tribunal to assess and mete out appropriate justice for crimes committed against New Capricans._

"_Keep faith, and know you have been heard. Your wounds will be tended to. This is President Hamathos of the Colonies of Kobol."_

Static followed her last words; Dualla turned off the volume. Lee turned around, willing away the dizziness threatening to topple him forward. "Captain, there should be several copies of the Operation Restoration Plan in the drawer there—can you bring them to us?"

Only four packets existed in the Bunker; as Dualla and Tigh were very familiar with the documents, she handed one to Lee and the others gathered to look over shared copies. Everyone appeared ashen and subdued. No one could articulate thoughts yet over the bizarre turn of events with President Hamathos.

Lee's hands started shaking badly as he held the Plan; his body was giving way. Drake immediately came to kneel down in front of the Commander, equipment in hand to check his vitals.

"Sir," she began, gently. Lee waved her off. "Can't…we have to act now…no time." He was breathing shallowly. Bill stepped forward. "Lee, you've got to rest. Dualla and Tigh are familiar with everything…let them walk us through this."

"Can't let Hamath…worked too hard…" his voice trailed off as he felt exhaustion pull him under.

Drake shook him until he came around, knowing there was no logical way to get Lee into a bed otherwise. Bill immediately hooked his arm around a side as Drake took the other, awkwardly dragging Apollo over his good leg to reach the bunk Drake had prepared earlier. Easing him into the mattress, the medic made quick work of the covers and the IVs. Rapidly, Lee's color evened out and his breathing became more regular. He passed out as soon as he was in a prone position.

Roslin noticed Kara was hyper-alert, rocking back and forth on her feet, her teeth tugging on her fingernails in nervousness. "Kara, why don't you go check on him," she nudged kindly. "We'll wait to discuss anything."

Dee watched Kara make her way over to the bunk, morbidly fascinated. In an odd way, she felt sorry for the woman—Kara seemed so lost and uncertain. A twinge of anger also coursed through Dee's blood, though, as she realized the Admiral was studying her, trying to figure out why Dualla hadn't stepped forward as well.

All other actions were interrupted by Helo's welcome appearance, Cottle beside him. Surprisingly, Tory Foster came running in around the same time.

Bill approached Tory quickly, knowing Karl was going to talk to his family first. Sharon rushed to Helo's side, Hera's hand in her own. She cupped his face, searching his eyes for clues to his real state of health.

"Oh, Karl…" her voice caught.

"Shhh, Sharon, I'm going to be okay. It was a clean shot through the shoulder, though an artery was nicked."

Cottle chimed in. "We were able to stop the bleeding and patch him up. We're transfusing blood—" he held up one of the IV bags he was carrying—"to make sure he doesn't get too weak."

Helo hugged his wife close with his good arm; the other was in a sling to keep the shoulder immobile. Hera clung to her father's leg.

"Where's Lee? I thought—"

"He's resting," Sharon whispered. "Lee's body is still so depleted, Karl—I'm worried about him. He really should be in Life Station."

"We're all safer right here, for now. I heard the President's _message_—gods help us all. She's starting a frakkin' civil war. It's unbelievable."

Sharon moved to talk in Karl's ear. "I made a mistake…I told them about the two Cylons. I didn't realize they…I should have known you needed more time. I'm so sorry, Helo."

He squeezed her. "They had to find out. _I'm_ sorry I wasn't here to explain; you shouldn't have been put in that position." He kissed her quickly on the forehead. "I'd better go to the comm and check in with CIC. This is such a mess…we're all going to miss Kelly deeply." Karl gently pried his daughter from his knee and went to the computer panels. Dualla was standing there, reviewing reports and listening to transmissions.

"How are you holding up, Dee?" He braced his shoulder against hers, nudging her lightly. She shook her head. "I've been better, honestly."

"Yeah. Everything's so…out of control. I never thought things would go this way. Strange, isn't it…that it seemed more manageable before we—"

Dee glanced at Helo's face. "Do you feel melancholy too? I keep…it comes in waves…"

Rubbing her back for a moment, Karl nodded. "Part of it's Lee…this has been so hard without him."

Gulping, Dee turned her head away. "Very hard."

Realizing he'd inadvertently touched a sensitive subject, Helo cleared his throat. "Let's find out what's going on upstairs."

Ten minutes later, after talking with several key officers on deck, Karl gave an update to the group. "I need to provide a broadcast to the other ships' captains; there are a lot of angry civilians stuck on Pegasus, and the calls are coming in from everywhere—people panicked about who was injured, questions about the President's motives, fears of retribution, threats of more violence. We have to send one of us to the CIC too, at least for a few hours—the team is rattled and there's no senior leadership to ground them."

Bill nodded. "I'm sure Lee's intent was to verify everyone's safety and assess security before resuming normal military command operations."

Tigh interjected. "We should all stay here, especially when not on duty, until Helo can take care of protection in the Senior Officers' wing. And there're advantages to sticking around the Bunker—it gives us a private, secure place to develop a strategy. Life Station's no place to conduct business."

Laura added her thoughts to the discussion. "Admiral, I agree with Tigh. We can't let things continue they way they are—it's time to act. This location is ideal to mount an offensive."

Bill winked at her. "You're sounding like a soldier."

"I'm about to sound like an anarchist. We tried to follow the democratic plan_ again_—Baltar was such a successful experiment in pursuing the democratic ideal—and _again_, it's blown up in our face. Spectacularly. We've got to fix our mistake." Her voice was menacing, her jaw set; a serious unease swept through the room.

The Admiral paced for a moment. "We need eyes and ears in the CIC—starting now. Tigh—"

"I'm on my way. Kitridge—the senior Marine officer—he'll need to send extra men there."

"Done. I want us to establish a rotation for every shift—you, Dualla, Helo, and myself."

Kara emerged from one of the room's dark recesses. "Count me in."

Looking over at Cottle, Bill paused before responding to her. "Starbuck, I know—"

"Don't. Don't frakkin' coddle me—Sir. I'm…yeah, my imprisonment sucked. Yeah, I'm frakked up. But I can still function. Same as the rest of you." Kara looked at him defiantly.

The energy emanating from her, in and of itself, was enough to restore a little of Bill's hope.

Cottle started to protest and Kara waved him off. "Admiral?"

"Alright. We'll put you in rotation and see how you do."

Helo and Tigh nodded, approving of Bill's decision. Tigh stepped closer to him. "I want Ellen brought here. She shouldn't be alone."

Tory came forward, speaking for the first time to the group. "I understand, Saul, your reasons. But we need to keep our plans close, involving only the people in this room. It's not a good idea to even have the medic here, and Cottle would be better off having plausible deniability."

Tigh turned on her, anger flaring quickly. "It isn't your place—"

"Saul—she's right." Bill's tone was firm. "At least during the day, for however long we're holed up in here, we need to keep this tight. I'll have Kitridge bring her at night."

"Bill, she's too fragile. I don't want her alone!"

Tory moved close to Tigh. "Why don't we put her with Maya. Ellen knows her and feels comfortable…she'll have someone to talk to. Someone who understands."

With a deep sigh, Tigh acquiesced. "Fine. But what about that one—" he pointed to Drake.

"Well, I can't be here indefinitely—there are too many patients who need attention," Cottle said gruffly. "She stays."

Bill was ready to move on. "Gods, we have other tasks ahead of us. Tigh, ship out. Dualla, contact Kitridge to make the other arrangements. Laura—talk to us about anarchy." He took a seat on the couch across from her. Kara, Tory, Cottle, Sharon, Tyrol, and Helo all took up other spots in the room.

Drake thoughtfully drew Hera away from the adults, offering to show her some of the medical equipment. As soon as Dualla finished with the Marine officer, she slipped on the couch next to the Admiral.

"Before we examine the Commander's plan, we have figure out how to deal with Hamathos. Either we find a 'Constitutional' way to strip her of the office, or we lead a coup." Laura focused her piercing gaze on Tory. "First, though, we need to know who we're dealing with. What've you learned about Hamathos so far?"

Tory sighed. "She won't go quietly. Meridian believes what she said on the broadcast. She was in the Detention Center on New Caprica for two months and she's very angry the active military jumped away. In her view, it's the military's fault there was an occupation in the first place—the Cylon ships should have been detected and destroyed before they threatened the people on the planet. She's determined now to reduce the power of the military in making decisions for the fleet."

Laura shook her head. "Well, that pretty much rules out 'reasoning' with her to step down. I've been thinking about the Constitutional options…a legal way to have her removed.

"We could declare her mentally incompetent."

Cottle gave a sinister laugh. "And I suppose you want _me_ to _swear _to that? I'm a military doctor. Even if I were willing to make such a declaration—and to be clear, I'm not—it is unlikely the civilians would accept my word. It will be the same a coup in their eyes."

"Doctor, surely you see why this woman has to be removed from office!" Laura sputtered.

With a violent gaze, Cottle stared down Roslin for a long moment.

"The_ last_ time I did your unholy bidding, a grievous injustice was done. Fine people suffered, and my conscience was permanently burdened. I will not carry another load on my shoulders for you."

Karl gasped, turning to Laura. "You were the one that ordered…? He faced Cottle. "I can't accept you would go along with it! Gods, Doc, I trusted you! Sharon trusted you to—"

Sharon was quiet, her fists clenched in her lap. "Karl," she whispered, "I know how hard all this is to take in—believe me. And Roslin—" she scowled at the woman—"will have to answer for her deeds one day. But it's important—vital—that we figure out how to handle the current crises. You and Lee worked so hard, we all did, to bring the Colonial people back together. Nothing can be allowed to jeopardize that success."

His cheeks hollowed out with tension, Karl leaned back in the couch. Seizing upon the silence, Bill pressed Laura for other options considered.

"The Colonial Articles stipulate the selection of a president and/or vice president in a non-election year must be ratified by the Quorum of Twelve. We had no Quorum at the time of Hamathos' swearing in."

Bill nodded. "So technically, her appointment wasn't valid."

"The last duly elected Colonial President was Baltar. His Vice-President was Tom Zarek. We could legally argue that Tom's death left us with no appointed leader—Hamathos was the only survivor of the last democratically elected Quorum."

Tory added her thoughts. "It does fit with the Articles. But what happens next? Does the Colonial Constitution provide guidance if there is no person to assume the Presidency?"

Helo spoke up. "It would put your previous Presidency into question, Roslin—there was no Quorum to ratify your appointment either."

Laura sat up straighter. "That's correct, technically, Captain Agathon. However, at the time Baltar was made Vice President, we were both legitimately confirmed." She leveled a hard look at him. "That actually bolsters our argument now."

Karl matched her glare before turning to the Admiral. "Sir, during the New Caprica occupation, as we prepared for the rescue operation, we used military governance within the fleet. A separate civilian police force was established, and fleet decisions were made jointly with the other ships' captains. It worked well; it wasn't the same as martial law and we avoided creating a separate government that would compete with the last elected government from New Caprica.

"If we removed Hamathos, established a clear plan for elections of a Quorum and President, and detailed how the interim period would be handled, the people might accept it. I'm sure the captains who were with our group during that time would provide positive support now, help the other captains become comfortable with the idea."

Her face calm and determined, Laura agreed the plan had merit. "Let's move forward with that strategy. I'm assuming, given the Commander's attention to detail--"she waved her hand at the other report—"there are some guidelines we can review?"

"You'll find everything in the system, accessed through the panels over there." Helo pointed to the computer terminals behind him.

"Good. I'm going to suggest we all take a break at this point—a number of us need to rest." Laura let out a long sigh. "I want to learn more about Lee's plan here, once we've all regained some energy."

No one protested; the adrenaline rush was wearing off, and most of the people in the room were feeling a certain emotional exhaustion settle in. Helo and the Admiral quickly scanned the main system readings before joining the others, collapsing in their racks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Bunker, End of Fifth Day, Operation Restoration**

Kara tried to avoid hyperventiliating as she listened to the sounds of people settling into their bunks. Sleep had been a rare companion since she was weaned off the meds. She was only catching rest when overwhelmed by drowsiness, and it definitely wasn't restorative. Her nightmares came in waves, and what scared her the most was not being sure they were actually dreams. For the first period in four months, Kara wasn't under the influence of one drug or another, and the memories of her imprisonment were flushing out. Rushing and torrential, they threatened to drown her.

Disorganized snippets of memory would flash into her mind during waking hours, but she could shake them off, focusing her attention on all the conversations going on around her to distract her mind. In slumber she had no such barriers. Real events mixed with phantasmagoria and she often gasped awake, her breath uneven, hands gripping the mattress hard enough to rip the material.

Kara told no one of the content of the dreams, although she realized others were aware of her problems. Lee was still too weak and dazed on morpha to witness her distress, but Cottle, Drake, and Helo knew. Cottle attempted, unsuccessfully, to convince her to take something that would pull her into dreamless sleep; he said her emotional state would worsen, with paranoia, anger, and depression, if she went without deep sleep for a sufficient length of time. Kara had laughed caustically at the irony. It wasn't possible to be more paranoid—or angry—or depressed. Not after the past few months. As far as Kara was concerned, she'd only gained one element of control back: her mental awareness of the world around her. Kara wasn't going to give that up. There would have to be another option.

With deep gulps of air, Kara concentrated on relaxing the muscles in her body. She rehearsed flight maneuvers in her head to keep thoughts on a neutral path. The lower bunks all had curtains, similar to regular group quarters; it gave her a semblance of privacy. Kara could hear the gentle, if shallow, breathing of Apollo a few inches away from her head. She'd chosen the bunk next to his and positioned herself to be able to twist her head backwards to look at him whenever she wanted confirmation he was still there. They could talk, if he needed something—she was worried he might want help to get to the toilet and no one would hear.

After the review of twenty maneuvers in her head, Kara let her physical body succumb, praying to the gods for a different outcome from the previous attempts at sleep.

_CylonLee was smashing her face. The blows kept coming—she'd lost track of how many—and all Kara could remember was the pain. It wasn't the physical agony, though, that stood out; it was the emotional collapse taking place deep in her core. CylonLee was finally breaking her. He wanted the most unimaginable thing: to be called "Lee." The name of the man who'd been her soul's friend. No one was going to make Kara Thrace call the demon by that moniker. Except he __**was**__. CylonLee. She'd either yield the name or yield her life; damn the survival instinct for being stronger than her mental will. As the words rasped past her barely movable lips, Kara felt her heart drop like an iron weight through the floor. She swore she could feel the splinters and ragged edges in the wound. There would be no escape and no absolution for the piece of herself she'd now surrendered. _

Kara woke up rocking in a fetal position, her wrists turned in with her fingers pulling on the fabric of her tank. She felt the wetness of her cheeks. The unbearable pain from the dream lingered into her wakefulness. On instinct, Kara slipped out of the bunk. Within seconds, she was kneeling beside Apollo's bed, her hand raised to push the curtains aside. Hesitating, Kara wondered what Apollo would do if she just crawled into the bunk with him. Would he gently insist she return to her own bed? He might ask her to tell him what the dream was about—she couldn't handle that. Impulse quickly overrode analysis as her tears threatened to become vocal sobs. Kara carefully slid the curtain.

Apollo was sleeping on his back, likely because of the leg brace. His bad leg was wedged against the wall, so he wouldn't be tempted to roll over on that side. Climbing in beside him, Kara propped herself up on her arm to study his face. When he opened his eyes, she flinched backward, almost falling out of the rack.

"Kara?" Apollo whispered softly. She nodded, her eyes wide, not leaving his.

He studied her expression, then reached to touch her face. Kara rested her cheek against his large hand, letting the tears lace his fingers. With a light tug, Apollo pulled her to rest against him. Her arm draped across his chest instinctively and she sighed when he enveloped her body. The tears wouldn't stop. Kara was surprised how much emotion filled her as his hands caressed her face. He planted kisses against her hair, stroking her head. She shuddered, intense feelings cascading. It had been so long since there had been comfort. Gentleness. Deep affection without expectation of return. It seemed impossible to stop crying.

A long time passed. Apollo never ceased his touches. Kara sank limply into his side, her face burrowed in his neck. She didn't know when it happened, but at last, she found safe haven in dreamless oblivion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Lee woke, he moaned, realizing Kara was no longer pressed next to him. He'd been shocked to see her in his bunk hours earlier, but comforting Kara had stirred warm emotions in his heart. He was certain she'd fallen into a deep sleep before, gauging by the sound of her breathing and her motionlessness; he had done the same. A few hours absorbing Kara's energy had somehow given him more strength too; as he came to full alertness, he felt he'd be able to sit up and work with the others for a while.

Anxiously, Lee turned back to see if she was resting in her bunk. He was relieved to see locks of blonde hair peeking through the curtain. Readjusting himself in his bed, Lee knew it was actually better if the people in the room didn't see Kara lying next to him in such an intimate way; he had no wish to upset Dee at this moment, and he didn't want to explain his changed marriage circumstances to his father yet. Nonetheless, his body ached to be holding her again.

He repeated a mental prayer of thanks to the gods that his instincts had served him well; despite Lee's urgent sense—he wanted to know what was haunting Kara, what had happened back on New Caprica—he'd opted for accepting silence. Kara wasn't given to emotional disclosures on a good day, and if he pushed her, he'd likely hurt them both. They weren't ready for deeper confessions. The fear and pain in her eyes tugged hard at his core, though; he cursed himself for letting the situation on New Caprica drag out for so long. Someday, when a better foundation had been laid, he'd apologize for allowing her to remain longer in the place where a Cylon had raped her soul.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Bunker, Beginning of Sixth Day, Operation Restoration**

Bill and Laura were sipping coffee, intertwined on one of the couches in the Bunker. Many of the other inhabitants were still sleeping, so they spoke quietly.

"Bill, I need to share something with you before we dig into the day's work with the others." Laura squeezed his hand.

"The 'hand squeeze'—must be serious." Bill smiled as he said it, but his eyes were still.

"I had a lot of time to think while on New Caprica, and I considered…when the fleet was reunited, there might be a need for a new presidential election. I had to know where I stood with myself, whether or not I'd want to run for that office again." She stared into Bill's eyes for a long moment.

"I don't intend to put my hat in the ring another time." Eyebrows raised, Laura registered that she was holding her breath, braced for his response.

"Okay."

"That's it? _Okay_?"

"You had a different response in mind?" Bill's expression was playful; Laura couldn't help but chortle. A long sigh escaped her lips.

"I guess I expected you to regale me with stories about responsibility and duty."

"Laura." Bill wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "I want you with me. Duty, responsibility—there are other ways to serve the people. The roles we had before New Caprica, the way our time was spent—we can't go back to that. It would be too…"

"Unsatisfying." Laura nodded.

"Have you given any thought to what you'd like to do instead—when we're _not_ making love?" Bill whispered conspiratorially in her ear.

Laura sank her head against his chest. "Well, for now, I'd like to work behind the scenes. Planning for a redesigned government, running a candidate's campaign, serving as special liaison for the new President, so we can avoid another Hamathos situation."

Bill pulled away, tilting her face towards him. "You talk as though you already have someone in mind to run, Laura."

Her eyes twinkled. "I do. Bill, have you—"

The two were interrupted by Helo's approach. "Morning. Any updates?"

Bill extracted himself from his position with Laura and sat up normally on the couch. "I checked thirty minutes ago…there's been relative calm. I don't expect that to last."

"No, Sir." Helo poured some coffee and sat down across from Bill and Laura. "I've been thinking about the current situation, and I want to recommend a course of action for the group."

"Good, Captain Agathon. Congratulations, by the way—I haven't had a chance to find out any details about your promotion or Captain Dualla's, but I agree wholeheartedly with the decisions."

"Thank you, Sir."

Bill's eyes shifted as his forehead pulled slightly; Helo wanted to step away, stop whatever probing question the Admiral was getting ready to spring on him, but it wasn't feasible.

"I've been wondering how Captain Dualla ended up on the Galactica."

Helo felt prepared to answer that one without disclosing personal information, but Lee was going to have to tell his father about the dissolution of his marriage to Dee—Karl refused to take on that job.

"Galactica needed an XO, given Tigh's role as Commanding Officer during your absence. Lee believed Dualla was the best person for the role."

"Why didn't Tigh make that decision? He was the Senior Officer." Bill felt a sharp stab of pain in his calf as Laura swung her foot hard.

"Sir, perhaps it would be best to ask Tigh or Apollo that question."

"Hummph," Bill growled. He wanted to press the issue; it was maddening, these bits of knowledge that were incomplete. It was an itch that could only be soothed by long conversations with Lee, Tigh, even Helo, and there was no time. Hell, his son hadn't been conscious long enough to share much of import. Tigh—he'd been wrapped up in his reunion with Ellen; Helo was busy trying to keep things running on Pegasus and within the fleet. Laura's not-so-gentle nudge, however, reminded Bill he had to respect certain boundaries.

It didn't take a lot of deduction to figure out Lee and Ana were no longer together. Apollo's rescue of Kara—in the middle of a complex battle, for frak's sake—probably revealed the root cause for the separation.

What frustrated Bill more was trying to understand why Helo and Tigh went along with that Kara rescue plan. Lee couldn't—wouldn't—have left in a sudden fit of pique. If he had, the other two men would still be angry towards their Commander, and that clearly wasn't the case.

It was somehow troubling that Tigh deferred to Lee as the final arbiter in military decisions, though—as Bill was discovering in fits and starts—his son had been a first-rate fleet commander. Given Lee's state of mind at the time Bill originally went to New Caprica, he had to marvel at the apparent transformation. Lee had found his footing, his voice, and his resolve—his father wondered how his son had managed it in so short a time.

Equally puzzling were the signs that Lee had become more religious. In all the years Bill had observed his son, he'd never seen anything but Apollo's disdain for matters of faith. It was hard to imagine Lee would suddenly turn to the gods in a crisis; they'd all faced other grave situations without any indication Lee was in need of external reassurance.

The real story, though, that agitated the Admiral was the drive to find out how the Galactica was destroyed and the Pegasus managed to reach the rendezvous point with the fleet. He heard whispers about a special "weapon" and darker whispers about military personnel and citizens dying a horrible death. Bill couldn't piece any of fragments together into a sensible whole.

Adama's mind was working constantly, worrying over the facts and suppositions. He was going a little mad trying to deal with the knowledge gaps, because he believed he wasn't going to be able to make effective leadership decisions without all of these details.

As the others began to gather in the front section of the Bunker, Bill turned his focus to the upcoming conversation. Two folding tables were brought together, and the entire senior team pulled the chairs and couches around.

The meeting started awkwardly. The close working relationship between Lee, Helo, Tigh, and Dualla was evident; the three officers looked to Lee expectantly before glancing at the Admiral and leaning back, as though they needed a physical reminder to shift internal perceptions. Lee seemed alert and ready to launch into leading the meeting, though Bill could see the frailness in his body. Laura, Tory, and Sharon were studying the Admiral; they seemed to have no awareness that Lee was about to lead the meeting.

Bill considered the current dynamics and opted to defer to his son. In truth, the Admiral hadn't been in command of the fleet for the past four months, and he needed briefings—several of them—before he could competently fulfill his office. Technically, Bill wasn't even on active duty yet…and neither was Lee. Adama decided he would step in if Lee was overcome by exhaustion again during the session; otherwise, Lee called the ball.

"Commander Adama, since you and your officers have been responsible for so many of the military and civilian operations for the past several months, I think it would be best for you to walk us through the Restoration Plan document, the 'RSG' group you formed and how the civilian ships' captains were involved, as well as the recommendations for adaptation within the context of the present circumstances. Captain Agathon had some suggestions to put forth as well."

Lee nodded, a certain gratitude in his eyes. For the next hour, he provided an overview and key details related to the issues at hand. Others asked a few questions, but for the most part, there was intent silence. Bill stole glimpses of Laura's face, and could see she was impressed with Lee's thought processes and skills in implementation.

Lee, not certain how to interpret the heavy quiet, finally recommended the group take a fifteen minute break. As the members started to fall out, Laura asked everyone to remain seated for a moment.

"Commander, this is a remarkable piece of statecraft. Your talents in civilian administration are a welcome discovery. I applaud your work—and Tigh's, Agathon's, and Dualla's contributions." Her smile was broad, with the warm sparkle Bill realized had been missing since he was first reunited with her at the Detention Center on New Caprica.

To Bill's great shock, Tigh took the opportunity to praise Lee as well. "Admiral, Commander Adama has provided great military and civilian leadership. I'm looking forward to telling you the other details. Captains Agathon and Dualla have also been exemplary."

Bill concentrated on remembering to keep his lips pulled together—gaping would send the wrong message. He couldn't help but stare at Tigh for a long moment, absorbing the full picture—cantankerous, skeptical Saul, who'd never had a great deal of respect for Lee, making an unqualified statement of support. Of admiration, even…

A repeat sharp cut into his calf reminded the Admiral he had to say something too, acknowledge the compliments paid to these senior officers. He murmured something vague, still mystified by his own reactions. There was pride, yes, and thankfulness; but these were mixed with inexplicable feelings of envy. A thought, banished as soon as it rose to the surface, nonetheless pricked his soul: had he _wanted_ to see Lee succeed in this way? He rose abruptly from the table and went to get a drink of water.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kara watched all of the individual reactions with detachment. She could guess at the thoughts of most of the people at the table. Watching Apollo, though, Kara found warring feelings pounding in her chest. Not that she wasn't used to that experience, especially around him, but never for the reasons hitting her now.

She was in awe of Apollo, a word Kara might have applied to only one or two other people in her life. The range of his skills was broader than she had imagined—or maybe had tried to understand. He'd grown up a lot in her absence. Was that_ because_ of her absence? And given he had many talents, more than she'd ever match, what was it he saw in her? Why had he risked so much to bring her sorry ass back, especially after the way she'd treated him?

Gods, to think how she'd…the way she'd treated both men, Sam and Apollo. Sam had demonstrated unknown talents too, apparently—the Admiral and Helo both wanted to make him a Marine leader, with Sharon's agreement and Kitridge's blessing. Oh, she could pick them. Handsome, skilled, committed. And she'd managed to kill each one of these men—figuratively and literally, if you included Zak. And she had to include Zak. Apollo would have certainly included his brother in that list.

What was it the Admiral had said, so long ago…_"Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done anymore_."

Nope, there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere left to escape to. And it wasn't escape she wanted, not really…but where she wanted to go—_who_ she wanted to go_ to_—maybe she had no right to ask that much from him.

Apollo was the one with a destiny; that was becoming clear. Kara would be a distraction, representing the sorrows of the past, draining him of the energy needed in the present. She didn't know what she'd have to give to him. The time with CylonLee had left her barren. Kara hadn't been a very giving person to begin with, and now…even when she wanted to give something of herself, there didn't seem to be anything to draw from.

Knowing the break was over, Kara sat back down, feeling wretched. She avoided eye contact with any of the others. Too late, she realized Apollo had actually changed positions. He was sitting next to her. He nudged her shoulder, and winked when she looked into his face, startled. Kara thought he was about to whisper something, but Apollo appeared to think better of it and focused his attention on his father. She found herself wondering what he would have said. The next moments erased any hope of finding out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"We need to get Lee out there, talking to the fleet. He's the best person to pull these fracturing groups back together." Helo spoke the words in a pressured rush.

Admiral Adama leaned forward slightly, intrigued and struck with another twinge of envy. "Continue, Helo."

Helo made his case, delivered a well-planned presentation to the group. Adama realized Helo had been working, for some time, on how to best couch the recommendations. He didn't want to offend the Admiral, but he had been listening to the fleet chatter and understood Lee was the best person to put forward as the voice of the leadership.

As Karl walked through the key points, Tigh and Dualla added comments. Bill tried to make eye contact with Lee, but his son stared steadfastly at the table, hands steepled and cheeks colored. Lee had not known about Helo's intended statements. He tried unsuccessfully to interrupt Karl at several points, but Dualla deftly interjected. Bill was surprised to realize Dee's savvy; she knew Lee's general sense of guilt would prevent him from taking her on in front of the group, and she said just enough to push him back into silence.

Studying his son, Bill grasped a sudden insight. The intensity in Lee's face wasn't from embarrassment. The blushing was, but the other facial expressions and body language communicated something else—purpose. Lee_ wanted_ to be out in front, promoting the cause for a unified "floating nation." The Restoration Plan was a _calling card_, a way for Lee to announce—unconsciously, perhaps—his passion for statesmanship.

Catching Laura's gaze, another flash of recognition struck Bill. That morning…Laura had wanted to tell him something. She'd looked at the Plan documents, and she understood Lee's potential—but Laura had been concerned about Bill's readiness. That's what she had been trying to lay the groundwork for, explaining it was time for others to take the reins. Laura and Bill had roles and responsibilities, but they would belong in a different realm.

As Helo finished talking, Roslin called on Lee by name, forcing him to look up. "Commander, Captain Agathon has made a strong case. The question is, are you ready to take on this job? I know you aren't at full strength yet, health-wise, and we can't jeopardize your recovery."

Lee's eyes were wide; Bill could see him mentally monitoring his reactions to reset his expression. Lee's face relaxed and he clasped his hands together on the table. "If you think this is the best course, I'll work out a schedule with Cottle."

"I not only think this is the best, course, I want to take it a step further. I'm suggesting you think of this as the first phase in a bid for the presidency." Laura held Lee's gaze.

Something flashed between the two; Bill couldn't define what he was witnessing, but a piercing instant connection seemed to knock the breath out of Laura and Lee at the same moment. Both masked their feelings quickly.

Helo immediately chimed in with his agreement, and Lee swallowed hard as he half-stood from the table. "That's enough of that talk. Roslin, I thank you for the compliment, but it's…absurd. I'm an active officer in the military. A fighter pilot, for frak's sake! I'm not—I don't want—I'm going to fly again. No one's going to write me off like that! I'll agree to help with establishing a workable governance so we can hold elections—_as long as_ I'm also in physical rehab. When I'm cleared to fly, that's what I'll be doing. _That's_ what I'll be doing!" Grabbing his crutches, Lee stumbled away from the table, lurching towards the hatch. He growled something menacing at the guards who greeted him and they let him by.

Laura rose quickly. "I'm going to talk to him." She hustled past the guards.

Unable to pace and unwilling to press his luck to take the lift to another part of the ship, Lee turned to face Roslin, exasperated. "What the frak are you doing? I set up everything based on the idea you'd resume the Presidency. There's no way I'm—"

"Commander—Lee. I need you to answer a question for me."

Shocked by the unexpected direction, Lee stared at her for a long moment. He realized he was breathing hard, though he couldn't say why. Images of Pythia and the _Waiting Room_ pushed into his consciousness.

"When you were in the coma…do you remember anything?"

Lee wished he wasn't about to hyperventilate. "What are you asking? I mean, _why_ are you asking?"

"My heart stopped. In Life Station, while you were in a coma, I went into cardiac arrest. I had a vision. You were in it." Laura wondered when she'd started talking like a child, using such choppy sentences.

Lee's face was stricken and pale. He seemed frozen in place; Laura took a few steps closer, suddenly aware the guards shouldn't overhear whatever the two of them said next.

Without warning, Roslin realized Lee's legs were buckling. If the guards came, she'd lose any chance of continuing the conversation, and she had to know what he remembered. Laura grabbed him around the waist, guiding him to lean against the outer bunker wall.

"Lee…I need to know what you remember." She gripped his shoulders, staring evenly at him.

"I'd hoped…gods, if it was real, then…" Apollo shook his head.

"It was Pythia. She told me to support you, that you would know the way ahead. Is that right?"

"Laura, I'm not expecting—"

"Commander, _is that right_?" Laura resisted the urge to slap him hard.

"Yes. That's what I remember."

Roslin stepped away, letting go of Lee's shoulders. Her hands were starting to tremble slightly. She raised a finger to her lips, her eyes losing focus. "Then the other statement is also true—I'm going to die."

"That's not the prophecy, Roslin. Pythia spoke of a treatment, a cure."

"Well, she said it would come from an enemy, delivered by someone who betrayed me. Any idea what that means?"

Lee shook his head.

"Me either. It's not exactly hope-inspiring." Roslin sidled next to Apollo, leaning against the metal. She closed her eyes.

"Lee, I may have promised you a certain loyalty—back _there_—but I want something in return."

He laughed darkly. "Nothing unconditional with you, eh, Roslin?"

"I don't plan on talking about visions or prophecies. With anyone. If I decide to tell something about our shared—experience—later, that should be my choice, on my terms."

Lee grabbed her hand, jerking her. "If the cancer's back, you need to find out. You can't ignore—"

"Yes I can _ignore_. For now, I _intend_ to ignore. They were mucking around in my chest just a few days ago, Lee—don't you think they'd have seen something?"

"Roslin, it's a good thing if they didn't see any signs—that means the cancer hasn't spread yet. If you work with Cottle now, there's a chance you'd be able to recover."

"I don't think it works that way. Somehow I doubt Cottle would find anything until it's too late."

"Don't you believe what Pythia said? Why suggest my name for the Presidency if you don't think the words are true?"

Laura stepped far from the wall, glowering at Lee. "No more! I'll keep my own counsel. I don't have to explain to you."

Sighing, Lee shifted his weight as the throbbing in his leg reminded him he needed to sit down again soon. "Fine. It's all between us. For now." He heaved himself over his crutches, beginning the trek back to the bunker hatch.

"Thank you, Apollo."

"I don't want your thanks, Roslin. If I see any signs you're becoming ill, I _will _tell my father what I know. Pythia said you'd have a choice to make. I'll be damned if I let you decide to die before you even come to the crossroads. And I'm not running for President, so you'll need to drop that idea if you expect our agreement to stand for long."

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus CIC, End of Ninth Day, Operation Restoration**

Admiral Adama was in the CIC, listening intently to the interfleet chatter. He was fighting the urge to step into his ready room and dig out the bottle of ambrosia he'd hidden carefully behind a loose panel to keep out of Tigh's hands. Bill wanted a long swig—hell, he wanted several. Anything to stop the roiling in his gut that signaled things were going to get worse before they got better.

It was only his second shift since being cleared for active duty. The shrink, Dr. Martin, had conceded to the arrangement based on the gravity of the larger fleet situation; she vehemently expressed her reservations to Cottle—based on the gods knew what, in Bill's opinion—but agreed the Admiral's actions would be essential in regaining control over the rebellion.

Bill had believed the pervasive disquiet that settled over him would dissipate once he was in charge again, managing decisions and events. The time on New Caprica, imprisoned by Leoben, had been humiliating and haunting. Bill had expected his self-possession to return as soon as he put the uniform back on, walked into the CIC, and began issuing orders.

The frakking shrink. It was her fault the anxiety wasn't abating. Dr. Martin had pressed him about topics he didn't want to discuss—didn't need to "process." It was pointless to analyze what _had_ happened, when what was _about_ to take place was so alarming. He couldn't see the point in discussing feelings he had no time to acknowledge. It didn't matter that he was ashamed Leoben had exposed him as weak; it didn't matter that he was equal parts proud and resentful regarding his son's accomplishments; it didn't matter he had been terrified to almost lose his lover; it didn't matter that Galactica was gone and he was bereft, living in a place that was no more "home" than the Cellar was "home" on New Caprica. None of that _could_ matter. William Adama was a soldier, first and always. He knew the mission, and personal _emotions_ were immaterial. The damned fleet was in dissolute fragments, and he hadn't brought the last survivors of humanity through so many crises to watch them self-destruct now.

Thank the gods the Cylons weren't there to realize what was happening. By some small miracle, the fleet had managed to avoid Cylon detection for the past two weeks. The Colonial societal structure was so weakened, any attack would likely lead to human extinction. The Admiral had to ensure the fleet was re-constructed, re-solidified, if there was any hope of surviving external enemy strikes.

At this moment, solutions were hard to come by. The opposition groups were growing quickly. Each day, the leadership group was planning a message strategy and taking forceful steps to regain full control over the population, but it was like a Scorpian forest wildfire; it was only fifteen percent contained, and the firefighters were intimidated by the intensity of the heat and the layers of smoke.

Lee had insisted the best way to begin countering President Hamathos' actions and addressing the furious resentments in the fleet was to start communicating, face-to-face, ship to ship. He'd intended to travel to each vessel and hold open civilian sessions, but fortunately, Cottle had put a stop to that. It was difficult for Lee to maneuver with his current leg cast and brace, and his physical strength was still very much in doubt. The sepsis had taken a tremendous toll on Lee; no one in the group would say it aloud, but the worry was apparent. Against Cottle's medical judgment, Lee had started taking stims to make it through the taxing days.

For the past fourty-eight hours, Apollo had contacted every captain and civilian leader he could locate, setting up video feed virtual meetings with any person or group who would agree to talk. From the Bunker, he held one session after another, putting himself out there to educate, energize and mobilize the civilians who hadn't joined any factions. Helo, Roslin, and Dee helped Lee craft the key talking points and rebuttals; he conducted fleet-wide broadcasts every three hours, between the other meetings, to counter President Hamathos' frequent public rants.

Hamathos herself had gone into hiding; it was unclear where she was broadcasting from, though she'd somehow managed to slip away from the Pegasus and find another ship as her base of operations.

Of the sixty-two ships in the current fleet, eighteen had committed their allegiance to Hamathos. At least seven of these ships had been taken over by sympathizers; passengers on these vessels who did not support Hamathos had been grouped and held against their will. The other eleven ships had more than ninety-percent New Caprican refugees aboard, including the captains.

Lee was specifically reaching out to the forty-four non-rebel ships. Twenty of those captains had been part of fleet under Apollo's direction. With the testimonies from these people, another ten captains had pledged to support a new interim government. Lee was in contact with the remaining undecided ships, and had also been was working through a few contacts on some of the "Hamathos"-pledged vessels.

As Lee worked through back channels, the Admiral was strategizing with Helo, Tigh, Dee, and Kitridge to increase security measures throughout the fleet. Nearly ninety-percent of the civilian police force that had been in place during Lee's command were willing to sign up again; many offered to help recruit additional members. Sam Anders had been put in charge of training for recruits and returning civilian police.

While Sergeant Kitridge still wanted Sam in the Marines, he had recommended Anders for the training role because his skills were sharp, he had a knack for explaining how to read tense situations to develop a plan of action, and he was a civilian. Sam seemed engaged in this new assignment and was coming up with some inventive ways to ensure better protection for the people trying to stay out of the opposition conflict.

To help Kitridge with implementation of the new security measures within the military, Bill had temporarily assigned Galen to the Marine group. It had been a tough call, given the number of ships requiring repairs in the Pegasus hangar deck, but the Admiral had to acknowledge that—given the reports from Sam and Sharon—Galen was an able ground forces leader.

The factions coalescing around Hamathos were becoming more organized. Bill feared the conflict could escalate in scale to an actual civil war; the priority had to be containing the fire before it engulfed the fleet. Assigning people like Sam and Galen to plan the security efforts, individuals who had been respected leaders on New Caprica, would help convince many of the refugees to align with the interim government and established military. They could set up the fire lines, prevent the blaze of rebellion from jumping to other ships.

Despite all of the frenetic activity taking place—the work of Lee, Helo, Tigh, Sam, Galen, and Kitridge—Bill still couldn't shake the gut sense that things were spinning out of control. He listened to Hamathos' broadcasts, and the vitriol packed an emotional wallop. It was impossible to admit to anyone else, but even Bill found himself occasionally drawn in by her rhetoric. If he could be influenced, it was hard to deny the emotional appeal of the woman's words and plans. Hamathos logic was flawed; her statements could easily be shredded by identifying all of the biases and faulty reasoning. Drawing forth compelling, raw feeling, however, could over-ride every reasoned argument in the struggle for hearts and minds that had been battered by sustained turmoils.

Lee was figuring out Hamathos' tactics and had begun to make more impassioned speeches in his counter-broadcasts. Laura was a key influence—Bill recognized her tell-tale phrases and lines of thinking in Lee's statements—but Bill's son was also placing his imprimatur on the addresses to the fleet.

Even though the Admiral was uncomfortable with Laura's contention that Lee should run for President, Bill had to acknowledge his son's skills for the job were revealing themselves more fully in each passing day. More upsetting was the realization Lee genuinely wanted the role. Lee couldn't admit it to himself—that much was clear to Bill—but his actions spoke volumes.

Bill's heart clenched every time he tried to consider his son leaving the military, especially in these difficult times. It was the primary reason for his extreme discomfiture. He was beginning to feel desperate to assign Lee to some other set of responsibilities, and he was pushing Cottle hard to schedule Lee's third surgery for his leg. If Lee was focused on physical rehabilitation and getting back in the cockpit, there was hope Bill could keep his son from resigning his military commission.

Laura sensed Adama's reluctance—abhorrence—for the plan she'd proposed, although they hadn't discussed it since Lee had walked out of the meeting a few days ago. For the moment, she seemed content to keep her own counsel. Bill certainly wondered what she and Lee had talked about outside the bunker, but he didn't ask; posing that question would open the door to the Presidency discussion. They had all been busy, since that day, trying to stay a step ahead of Hamathos, and Bill hoped the topic wouldn't come up again for the foreseeable future.

Bill's overall agitation would not abate, even now in the CIC. He was still thinking about that hidden bottle of ambrosia every few minutes, wanting relief. Only a clear nudge from the communications officer finally broke his obsessive-compulsive focus.

"Sir, Major Cottle's on the comm. He says it's urgent." Bill's thoughts flashed to Laura and Lee. He grabbed the receiver.

"What's happened? Are Laura and Lee—"

"It's not them. It's about Baltar."

"Say again?" Bill was caught completely off-guard at the mention of the former President's name.

"When he was captured, Baltar had a laptop computer in his possession. Tory Foster told me Baltar had been working on some science project for the Cylons and she urged me to look into his files. I finally had a chance to scan the research on his computer, and I think we need to interrogate him."

"Major, there are higher priorities right now. I don't see how a science project is going to help—"

"There's a hell of a lot more on that laptop than a 'science project.' For one thing, there's a letter of confession I think you'd find very interesting."

"A letter of confession? That hardly sounds like something Gaius Baltar would write."

"You need to read it, Bill. I'm confident he _did_ write it, and it explains why our defense grids failed three years ago—how the Cylons were able to completely destroy the twelve colonies."

The Admiral sucked in his breath. "I'll get Tigh to come to the CIC, and I'll meet you at the brig."

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, End of Ninth Day, Operation Restoration**

As soon as Bill reached the cells, Cottle pulled him aside. "Let's go into one of the interrogation rooms to talk, before we bring Baltar in."

Once inside a room, both men sat down. Cottle wasted no time in explaining what he wanted to accomplish.

"We need to see if we can use the letter of confession as leverage. Baltar's science skills are still a rare commodity, and based on the other work he was doing for the Cylons on New Caprica, I want him to begin doing that work for us."

The Admiral stared at the doctor in disbelief. "Cottle, if Baltar committed treason, and he confessed to it, the best thing we could do right now is put him on trial. It might be the way to find common ground with the rebels, appease those who want revenge for what's happened. We'd refute the idea that somehow the military is collaborating with certain Cylons and we could use the law to remind all members of the fleet why the current social structure is the best option."

"As much as I'd like to see the bastard hang, Bill, we don't have the intellectual resources to spare. Our survival depends on our ability to manufacture more medicines, find ways to produce food, and help our soldiers recover from serious wounds. Based on the documentation I saw, the man has viable solutions in all of those areas." Cottle leaned forward over the table, staring at Bill intently.

"I'm not sure that's enough to convince me—or people like Laura or even Hamathos—that he shouldn't be brought to trial. If we don't find a way to establish trust with these rebel New Capricans, we're going to have a civil war. We won't survive that, Jack." The idea agitated Bill so much he stood up to pace the floor.

"Consider using Baltar as a military weapon. If he could find a way to weaken or destroy the Cylons through biological warfare, wouldn't that be worth more than a court trial?"

Bill stopped walking and rubbed his face. "Don't frak with me, Cottle. Is there anything to suggest Baltar could actually find that kind of weakness? Did he really carry data that sensitive?"

"Yes, Bill. He did—he _is_. If you want to make the man pay for his crimes, then conscript him into service. Force him to use his knowledge for something purposeful."

"I'm not sure even the threat of a capital punishment trial would be enough to convince him to—"

Cottle stood up and moved close to Bill. "This is Gaius Baltar. Self-serving, self-preserving bastard. He'll be motivated."

The Admiral remained silent and still for a long moment. With a deep sigh, he nodded. "Alright. We'll go into his cell and present the terms. If he's going to be in a lab, I want Marines watching through video feed, Marines in the room, and Marines stationed outside. Ideally, I'd rather see the lab set up in the brig—he shouldn't get any special privileges."

Cottle rolled his eyes. "Admiral, there are too many special fixtures he'd need—the brig won't be an option for the research itself. He can spend any non-work hours brig—there's no reason he'd need access to other parts of the ship."

"Agreed. Let's get this over with." Bill moved out of the room, ready to enter Baltar's cell.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Bunker, End of Ninth Day, Operation Restoration**

Despite the intense pressure of the past few days and the severity of his headaches and exhaustion, Lee was energized by the presence of a certain blonde pilot. He was once again in the thrall of one Kara Thrace.

For the past three nights, after the others had fallen asleep, Kara had continued to come to Lee's bed for solace. They didn't talk during the hours together, and Lee discovered the absence of words didn't matter. Each time the two seemed to become more connected than the night before, at a level Lee lacked a proper way to describe. It wasn't overtly sexual; it was tender.

After the hurt and anger and fear, after the prolonged separation, the sensations of holding Kara against him, feeling her warm breath against his neck—it was exquisite. Biological cell memory seemed to kick in; they remembered how to fit together, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin of his inner arm, his body angled to draw her completely into him. By the third night, the touches were becoming more sensuous; she would nuzzle his neck and he would lightly rub his nose against hers. Their hands sought each other out, fingers intertwined.

The periods of sleep grew longer, but the time of half-sleep increased too. Lee was sure Kara was partially awake when they caressed each other, the feathering, lingering brushes of fingers everywhere against skin. He relished the ability to reacquaint himself with the curve of the small of her back, the swooping dip from her hip to her waist, the sensitive points along her neck at the hairline. He shivered when she rediscovered the way he liked to have his neck massaged, how her fingers found the right pressure to relax his whole body.

During the day, neither mentioned the events of the previous nights. Lee wanted to talk to Kara, let her know what had happened with Dee. He struggled with the question hovering behind his lips, wondering about Kara's relationship with Sam. Most of all, he wanted to confirm his impressions—was she becoming more reluctant to leave his bed as each night passed? It seemed that way, but he knew better than to guess when it came to Kara, especially after her ordeal on that planet.

At the same time, Lee had gained a great deal of patience; the words of Priestess remained with him. He needed to be motionless, let Kara choose the pace of shared confidences. So he focused on the messages Kara was more likely to deliver first; standing very near him in conversation, prolonging brushes of shoulders or hands, extending glances—telegraphing closeness and shared intimacy that didn't depend on words to be manifested.

These messages were coming through clearly. Lee appreciated their significance, and trusted he would understand more with time.

On the fourth night, in one of their semi-awake periods, Lee was forced into a position where he had to break their communal silence. He desperately needed to hit the head, and he couldn't make it there without help.

Cupping Kara's face to draw her eyes to his, Lee whispered to her. "Kara, I have to ask for a favor. Can you get Drake? I need to go to the head, and I can't manage walking without someone to steady me."

"Apollo, I'll help you. It's fine." She gave a small smile.

With her natural grace, Kara easily maneuvered Lee out of the bunk and into the head. She stood outside the hatch while he went about his business, but left it ajar, in case he became unsteady on his feet.

As Apollo approached the door to leave, he let out a deep sigh.

"What was that sound for?" Kara asked lightly.

Lee chuckled. "I was just thinking how wonderful it would be to take a real shower. I'm sick of 'sponge baths.'"

Kara looked at him intently. "Well, now's a good a time as any, Apollo."

He let his head bow slightly, studying the floor. Lee hadn't expected he'd have to explain the reason why he couldn't enjoy that luxury just yet.

"I'm afraid I'd lose my balance in the stall. The brace is waterproof, but I'm not supposed to put any weight on that leg, and the contraption is damned heavy."

Kara stepped closer to him, craning her neck to capture his gaze again. "Apollo, I'll make sure you don't fall."

His breath hitched slightly. "Well, unless you're standing in there with me—"

"Yeah, that's kinda the idea, flyboy. What—you'd rather Drake see you in all your glory? Seems like going with someone who's already 'been there, done that' would be a smarter choice."

She said it so matter-of-factly Lee began to wonder if he'd misread the situation between them. He wasn't sure he could be that close to her without his body responding in ways that would embarrass them both; Kara didn't seem concerned.

A knowing look crossed Kara's face. "I won't be…I planned on having my tank and underwear on, if that's what you're wondering about."

Lee was relieved, and yet a different knot formed in his stomach. _Don't read anything into this. She's been traumatized. She's still married to Sam. You couldn't expect her to want__** that**__. Want __**you.**_

He realized he was over-analyzing things. _ As usual._ "I really appreciate the offer." Both of them moved back into the head. Lee reached over to the shower, starting the faucet. "Hope you don't mind spending extra time under the water; I really want to soak in the heat." Lee's cheeks flushed as he realized the inadvertent innuendo. _Maybe not so inadvertent, Adama. _Avoiding Kara's gaze, he gingerly maneuvered himself to face the shower stall.

Lee was suddenly aware of Kara standing very close behind him. She helped him step out of his sweats before removing her own. The steam from the water began rising into the air.

Nudging Apollo forward, they moved into the stream of liquid warmth. Lee enjoyed the tingling against his skin and moaned softly as the water flowed over his hair. For ten minutes, they just stood in the moving water. Kara poured soap into her hand and instructed Apollo to brace his hand against the wall for balance as she started massaging his scalp. He leaned his head back, marveling at the pleasure of the shower. _Of her touch_. Finishing that task, Kara began washing his back.

"Kara, do you remember anything about being in the Cellar? I mean, when I brought you—" he faltered.

Kara was grateful he couldn't see her face; tears immediately pricked her eyes. "Yeah. I do. You were…very chivalrous."

Apollo let out a low laugh. "Chivalrous…that's not a typical Kara Thrace description."

Kara's hands stilled for a moment. "But it's the best word to describe…you were so considerate. I didn't even recognize who you were, at first, and yet you...Despite the horrible damage to your leg, the pain you were in. After two days of battle…gods, Apollo, I'm still not sure how you did it. Or why."

Lee felt his throat constrict with emotion as he registered the sorrow in her voice. He turned to face her. "I'll always have your six, Kara. You can't know how much I—" he tried not to look directly in her eyes. "You're important to me." _Still. Always._

Kara started stroking the soap in swirls along Lee's chest. She wouldn't look up, but Lee watched in fascination as her fingers slid through his chest hair, the tips pressing possessively into his muscles. Her voice cracked as she murmured, "You're important to me too."

Instinctively, Lee's hand went to her face. As their eyes locked, he held his breath. Her expression was so vulnerable. Unhesitating, his arms drew Kara's body completely against him. The water rained over their heads and slipped down their backs, warmth and steam surrounding them. He felt Kara relax into the embrace. Minutes passed; reluctantly, Lee finally began to pull away. Their eyes caught again; this time, he saw other emotions surfacing.

Quickly rinsing himself off, Lee grabbed the soap to finish his ministrations. He needed to get out of the stall, get back into clothes, put some pretence of barrier between them. His body was shaking off the weakness and injuries and exhaustion; passion was coming to the surface now. Kara wasn't ready for that—he couldn't be sure she'd even want to make love to him again. Lee had to stay in control of himself and his impulses.

Shutting off the water, he accepted the towel Kara handed him. As soon as they stepped outside the stall, she started shivering; he asked her to dress herself first, to get warm. Once they were both ready to head back, Lee thanked her for her kindness. He tried—but couldn't— work up the courage to meet her gaze as they made their way to the bunks.

Kara helped Apollo settle into his bed. He was astonished when she climbed in beside him. He had been sure she would avoid any further physical contact for the time being. He was longing to hold her; his body cried out for her warmth. But it was different now, and confusion gripped him even as the aching subsided. He could feel the currents of electricity building; he unconsciously started sliding subtly up and down along her body, desire growing even as he tried to remind himself he knew nothing of her feelings towards him.

Fortunately, the shower had brought on drowsiness. Willing himself to stillness, Lee held Kara close as he drifted into sleep. She was also relaxed, following soon after.

_Lee was disturbed, half-drunk on liquor and half-drunk on lust. Kara had managed to jerk him around—she'd wanted to frak, then pushed him off and told him there 'is no us' because she was hung up on Sam. Filled with anger and the intensity of unsatisfied desire—borne of three more years of distance and denial—Lee decided he'd had enough. When Kara turned back from the hatch to pull him towards her, delivering a kiss of such potency he was unsteady on his feet, he managed to lock his arms around her body. Driven by the knowledge he had to turn the tables and gain control of the moment, he slid his hands down to Kara's wrists. With a deft push, Lee had her back pressed hard against the hull, arms locked above her head._

_Her stare was a mixture of admiration, sexual frustration, and fury. Not to be deterred—Lee knew this woman—he held his mouth a fraction away from hers, chest leaning firmly into her to prevent escape. With wicked deliberateness, he moved one hand under her shirt, fingertips rapidly brushing against her nipples, pinching and stroking. A moan vibrated in his ear. Satisfied Kara's breath was becoming sufficiently uneven and shallow, Lee dragged his hand down her torso and beneath the waist of her shorts. She gasped, head arched and eyes closed, as his fingers rubbed her clit, alternating between her wet folds and her sensitive spot. Each down stroke brought him closer to dipping inside her. _

_As he finally used his fingers to penetrate her, he pressed into the g-spot, reveling in the sounds of her moans, the way she was bucking against his hard-on. He bent to kiss Kara, grateful she offered no resistance as his tongue darted deep into her mouth. His finger strokes intensified in pace, the sounds from her throat egging him on, until she was shuddering into his body and he was so hard he knew he wouldn't last long._

The sound of his real moans woke Lee up. He was embarrassed; what if others heard him? Quickly glancing at Kara, hoping she was unaware of his dreaming fantasy, Lee was startled to realize she was awake.

Eyes glimmering in the low light of the room, her mouth opened provocatively, Apollo found himself dangerously tempted to kiss her. Deep, full, luscious—the kind of kiss that was a prelude to wanton frakking. Love and primal lust.

Kara slid her hand along Lee's chest, fingers playing with his taut nipples. She moved her face close, breaths mingling, her lips feathering against his. Lee grasped her cheek to hold her still, desperate to kiss her the way he had just imagined.

To his disappointment, she turned; he ghosted kisses along her jaw line instead. Finally he unleashed his pent up energy against her neck, sucking hard against her pulse point until he heard a vibrating moan from deep in her throat. They began gliding their bodies against one another with unmistakable intent.

Apollo realized he wanted to pleasure Kara, let her know he could give without expectation of quid pro quo. This first time, after so long, needed to be about her. Without that, trust wouldn't come. Kara was expressing as much as vulnerability as she was capable of in the present. She wasn't ready for making love—souls touching through kisses, bodies in full communion. Lee hoped he could help Kara at least remember sexual release without shame or anger, and associate _him_—_Lee_, not that frakking Cylon—with passion and the act itself. He had to hope there would be a future time when Kara would come to him with uninhibited desire, ready to claim what was already hers.

Letting his tongue swirl in her ear, Lee smiled as he felt her body shiver. He held her close as his hand followed the same path as in his dream, dipping beneath her waistband and into her panties. She pressed her face into his neck to muffle the sounds of her body thrumming with bliss. They seemed to both be keenly aware there were other people in the room; it heightened the sensations because of the risk.

Fingers thrusting, playing, twisting, stroking. Soft whimpers and ragged breathing. Lee soaked in every detail, intent in remembering how Kara responded. His last intimacy with her had been more than a year ago, and he didn't know when he'd have another experience, when she might be willing to be vulnerable again. He inhaled the scent of her, the musk smell permeating his fingers. He lost himself in the softness of her skin, the light taste of salt when he laved her neck, sweat forming beneath her jaw. Lee moaned as Kara pressed her body against him, leg draped over his hip to give him deeper access. He felt her grip tighten around his shoulders, and gasped when she unexpectedly shifted her head to kiss the sensitive skin below his ear, her tongue stroking and slipping, lips nipping his earlobe, moist heat invading his inner ear.

Rock hard and fighting the intense, desperate instinct to shift Kara on her back and enter her, Lee imagined he was penetrating her as he thrust with his fingers, his thumb gliding over her clit each time he pulled back. She ground her hips, bucking against his hand, her head tilting completely back in the throes of her climax.

He was in a delicious agony, his thick erection throbbing unrelentingly as the sound of her coming shot through his groin. Unable to think, he was suddenly stroking himself with the fingers that had just been inside Kara, the stickiness of her burning along each ridge and vein. Cradling Kara against his chest as she shuddered from her aftereffects, he continued frantically sliding his grip along his shaft, the urge to climax overwhelming him. In another moment, his body went rigid as the orgasm rode through him, and he let out a sharp cry as he lost his breath.

The creaking of nearby bunk brought Lee back to reality. He wondered how many had heard his indiscretion. Doubts flickered across his mind; had he done the right thing, allowing this to happen so soon? Had he rationalized everything? How could he have lost control, seeking his own release that way? With a sickening feeling, Lee sought out Kara's eyes, wondering what he'd find there. He was tremendously relieved to see a small but genuine smile on her face, eyes calm and relaxed.

Whispering softly, Kara rested her hand along Apollo's neck. "I'd forgotten…wasn't sure I could _feel_ that again, the release without…" She bent her head, letting her forehead rest against his. "Can you—I'd like to be—held. Gods, that sounds so…"

"No, it doesn't. It's not lame. And Kara—" Lee tilted her chin towards him. He was about to say she'd never have to ask for something like that, that he'd always be there for her, but he realized her eyes were glistening. A flash of that night on New Caprica brought a shudder; he wasn't going to risk overloading Kara's acceptance of emotional intimacy. He settled for a kiss against her forehead instead, before he shifted his lips close to her ear. "I'm glad you felt pleasure."

Lee could swear he heard her sigh as she pressed a hand against his chest to ease him back into the mattress; he sensed her head lean heavily into his skin as she shimmied down further in the covers. He wrapped his arm around her protectively, letting languid warmth settle over them both. Gingerly, trying not to draw her attention, he used his free hand to remove the residue from his earlier activity, and rearranged the sheets to be able to pull her a little closer. He knew she'd be gone from his embrace before he woke up again, and he wanted to treasure the sensation of connection a little longer while he still had consciousness.

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**Sit Rep: Main Guard—Cylon Basestar, Adjacent to Resurrection Hub, Two Weeks After the End of New Caprica**

Cavil waited for the centurions to take their positions around the room before beginning the dialogue. He was impatient to begin.

The global moratorium on discussion or action since leaving New Caprica had been an irrational choice, in his estimation. The Primary Cylon Council had determined a period of reflection and mourning was required, to consider the mistakes made and acknowledge the brothers, sisters, and centurions who had been permanently lost, unable to resurrect. Two "weeks" had passed—Cavil was still mystified by the general group decision to keep track of time using Colonial markers—and all he had been able to focus on during that span was how they Cylons could eliminate the humans completely and just move on with a more perfect existence.

Some of the other Cylons had established ceremonies for the fallen. It was the first time the Cylons as a whole had experienced the loss of so many models who could never be reintegrated, and there was a sense among many that the absence of the collective memories, extinguished forever, was a sign that God was angry with His people for the failure of the New Caprica experiment.

The Cylon Council was gathering now to debate differences in perspectives. If the deaths on New Caprica signaled God's displeasure, the Council had to determine the corrective course of action.

Cavil was certain he knew the best answer. He intended to make sure the others came to the same conclusion.

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	21. Ch 16: Let No Man Put Asunder

A/N: I apologize the update's been so long in coming. I started my PhD program, my husband had some health issues, and it took me a while to get back in the right frame of mind. It also took some time for me to work out how I wanted the chess pieces to move—I knew the strategy, but not the details that would match the overall design. Things came to be in bits and pieces; thankfully, however, at least they did manifest!

I also wanted to issue a warning about the content of this chapter, specifically relating to Kara. I have friends who are professionals in helping others deal with sexual abuse; it's a complex and difficult psychological trauma, particularly when the abuse is repeated over a longer period of time.

I'm NOT a psychologist myself, so I don't claim to cover the topic with clinical accuracy. I tried, however, to capture some of the nuances of the trauma, the layers of emotion/thoughts that make recovery a long process requiring patience—on behalf of the victim him/herself, and on behalf of the people who love the victim. I certainly don't mean to over-emphasize that aspect of her trauma in relation to everything else Kara experienced; however, in relation to her dynamic with Lee, it was important to establish why there couldn't a "smooth" progression yet.

There will come a point when all of the major characters get to enjoy life more for a while. It just won't be in this chapter. :-).

Please see notes at end for additional information regarding some definitions.

**Section II. Chapter 16: Let No Man Put Asunder**

"_The test of a vocation is the love of the drudgery it involves." Logan Pearsall Smith_

"_Turbulence is life force. It is opportunity. Let's love turbulence and use it for change." Ramsay Clark_

"…_I try to hold the rising floods that fill my skin. Don't ask me why, I'll keep my promise…melt the ice. And you wanted to dance, so I asked you to dance—but fear is in your soul…" Save a Prayer, Duran Duran_

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration**

Gaius pulled the rough blanket closer around his body, shivering. He'd hoped, by agreeing to Admiral Adama's terms, there might be recompense, at least in basic comforts, but he should have known better. The hatred was palpable when Adama had first entered Gaius' cell, and it only intensified in the days that followed.

There'd been no point in denying the veracity of the letter they'd found; Gaius had committed worse sins, of which they were blissfully unaware, and it was better to only admit to what was already exposed. If they'd understood what he had really been working on, found the portable data drive with all of the information he'd downloaded before the exodus from New Caprica, they might have rescinded their "offer," such as it was, and forced him through the airlock.

He was safe, for the moment, because no one would understand the complexity of his research. The portable drive itself was with his personal effects, which he assumed were locked up in a forgotten pile of prisoner confiscations. The backpack containing his notebooks, warm clothes, and all other things related to his New Caprican life had been removed before the 'rescue' vessel had landed on Pegasus nearly two weeks ago; he hadn't seen the contents since.

It was unlikely, though, the items were lost—military people never missed an opportunity to catalogue and store—so it was going to be a matter of biding time. Gaius would get his hands back on his possessions, once he proved his value. It could take a long time—the Cylon Sharon, Helo's wife, had been imprisoned over a year before earning her freedom—and Baltar had a deeper hole to dig out of. Still, if he could manage patience, he might gain privileges long before he gained free roam of the ship, and all he needed was one privilege granted—the right to have his belongings. What he did with them afterward would be no one's frakking business.

Still cold, Baltar pulled his legs in closer to his chest. Tomorrow would be his first day in the laboratory Cottle had supposedly set up, and it was important to get some rest, if he could; they expected production from the first day. It was vital to make a good show of progress, if only to keep the suspicions from growing. And the faster Gaius worked, the sooner he could free up time to focus his attentions on his own projects: developing a specific cancer treatment for Roslin and continuing his research on Cylon reproduction.

Longer-term survival—and his true freedom—depended on possession of the right bargaining chips. For now, Gaius needed an item of value to the humans, and a cure for Laura Roslin's cancer would provide clear leverage. He was fairly confident no one was aware of her condition yet, including Laura herself. Producing the treatment, coupled with the shock of the announcement of her cancer, would jolt the Admiral into more vulnerable position. Gaius would just as soon airlock the woman—sometimes he was convinced he truly despised her—but leverage was leverage. He would have power only if he had something of essential value; being able to save Roslin's life was the best chip he'd have to play.

At the same time, Gaius had to acknowledge another possibility for his future: the humans might decide he could be traded—or discarded—to the Cylons. If he was dumped back with them, he would have to prove his value to the Cylon Council, and he knew he had enemies among that group. He would need leverage to survive there as well.

The Cylons hadn't realized—yet—the real extent of their "propagation" problem. Gaius had discovered a fundamental flaw in the resurrection process, one that hadn't reached critical mass. When it did, the Cylons would become more desperate to find a way to reproduce through more "traditional" means. Baltar would be ready with the solution, though it would only be revealed to the Council (and never to the humans) only if necessary for his own survival. Gaius definitely had no desire to help the Cylons, he just wanted to be sure he was guaranteed safety.

Truthfully, as Gaius lay there on his thin cot and continued shivering, he was beginning to think he didn't give a tinker's dam about who won anymore—humans or Cylons. Neither would claim him; he no longer fit in either domain. He was truly a man who belonged nowhere, and that was painfully isolating, though it was also status quo. Baltar had been in solitary confinement for much longer than the few days he'd been locked in the Pegasus brig. For the better part of a year, on New Caprica, he'd been treated as an outcast by many of his own people, and once D'Anna had taken him in, Gaius had only been allowed to interact with her—the other Cylons ignored him or distrusted him.

So it would seem that the mercenary role might fit him best, all things considered. Gaius was only noticed when they needed his mind, and the last laugh belonged to him, since no one could control or replicate his actual thought processes. As long as the humans and the Cylons continued to view him as an "on demand" intelligence hub, he'd oblige, to the extent it gained him something. The most valuable commodities, safely locked away as they were inside his brain, were was powerful as any weapons, and he'd use them with the same precision as a mercenary military commander.

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Boomer sat up quickly as she heard the metal door lock click. Stepping past the threshold, Galen stared at her intently for a moment, as though he were sizing her up. He had a bag in his hands; shuffling over a few paces, he set the contents on the bed next to her.

Neither seemed willing to break the silence, for some reason. Watching Boomer rub her arms, her shoulders clearly arched from the cold, Galen pulled out a sweater and handed it to her. She nodded in thanks, yanking it over her torso in one swift motion.

"Is it a tactical move, keeping it so cold down here?" Boomer finally asked.

Galen shook his head. "No, just crappy ventilation. The builders always went cheap when it came to the lower levels of a battlestar, and the brig was usually one of the last sections to come on line; there wasn't time or inclination to make adjustments when things like temp control were outside of specs."

"It was never intended for permanent residents," Boomer said quietly, a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

"True enough," Galen said casually, avoiding her eyes. "Look, I'm on duty in a few minutes, and I've got my hands full, so I'll cut to the chase. Last time we met, I told you to come up with some bargaining points, ways you and the other one could help us gain a strategic advantage against the Cylons. I need to know what you came up with."

Sharon straightened her back, tensing at the matter-of-fact expectation she would just hand over Cylon secrets, actively work for the destruction of her own people. Despite the time that had passed—more than two years since she'd learned she was a Cylon—Boomer often felt conflicted. She'd wanted desperately to be back with the Colonials again; even if some of her memories had been manufactured, the ones from the Academy were real enough, the friendships on Galactica tangible enough.

At the same time, her recent experiences with Caprica were fresh and no less potent, and she had the advantage of understanding more of the Cylon perspective since she'd downloaded into this body. While a part of her mind wanted to reject the Cylon arguments, another part readily grasped the validity of their superiority—her superiority—over humans. On New Caprica, she didn't trust some of the members of the Council, but she had no feelings of ill will towards the majority of Cylons. And some of the humans—she'd been spat upon, forced to fight when her safety had been threatened, and openly been called a traitor when dealing with them.

It was lonely, feeling she couldn't trust Cylons and she couldn't trust humans. Frak, she couldn't trust herself either, in a sense—what was real, what was programmed, what was a genuine emotion, what had been an echo of one. Her own motivations seemed suspect at times, and while Boomer believed she was aware of all of her Cylon programming levels, there were fleeting moments of terror when she sensed perhaps she _didn't_ know.

Regardless, she was certain of two things, at present: the Cylons had betrayed her, and the only way to survive had been—and was now—to forge some sort of alliance with the humans. She was Cylon by design, but in her heart, in some ineffable transformation, she _felt_ human. That had to be the root of her salvation.

"I have knowledge that would be valuable to the fleet, but it involves technology—building equipment. I can't do it without Caprica's help. I need to talk to her, find out if she'll go along with things." Boomer stood up, keeping her gaze focused on Galen's face. He wouldn't engage.

"I can't get you two in a room together, Boomer, so you'll have to make your best guess about her and take your chances." His chin jutted out in profile, and she saw his index finger and thumb tapping rapidly, a sure sign he was agitated. She wondered why he was so high-strung, and wished there was more time to talk and find out what was going on in the world outside of the brig.

"I know I can't _see_ Caprica, Galen, but if you can get me a portable amplifier and receiver, along with some wiring, I think I can still _communicate _with her."

Tyrol turned completely away from Boomer, pacing. "What the frak…tell me why the hell I'd do that? What are you trying to do, Sharon—get us both airlocked?" He stopped suddenly, swiveling to face her for the first time since he'd entered the cell. For a moment, Boomer thought he might lunge forward and start choking her—the look on his face was so wild, she had the sensation he wanted to release the tension by snapping her in two. She involuntarily took a step backward.

"The Cylons recently built an FTL drive enhancer that increased jump distances by thirty percent. The Sixes were responsible for the development and deployment. If Caprica tuned with the other sisters in the last few weeks, she'd know the engineering specs, the blueprints, the programming—everything the Colonials would need to retrofit the same technology."

"Tuned? Do you just make this crap up? How gullible do you think I—"

"It's a massive exchange of uploads and downloads, done voluntarily, so that all of the Cylons of one model can share experiences and learning. It's an efficient way of increasing everyone's knowledge base." Boomer was beginning to think she wanted to slam Galen against the wall in a chokehold herself; he wasn't even trying to give her a chance to explain.

Without explanation, Tyrol's body slumped, his shoulders dropping as though in defeat. Very quietly, he asked Boomer why she specifically needed the amplifier and receiver.

"When we were on the ship together, preparing to leave New Caprica, I told you about a way Cylons can communicate through electromagnetic conduits—a ghost network."

Galen nodded. "But you said it only happened when a lot of Cylons were gathered in a certain radius of one another, so how does that…"

"If I can amplify the waves, she'll pick up at least parts of a message. I can adjust the receiver to try to catch her responses."

"How will she know to listen for you, though? She might just think she's dreaming." Galen seemed to be considering Boomer's plan, although it was hard to gauge; he was turned away from her again.

"You'd have to make her aware—if you said the words 'ghost network,' Caprica would understand."

Shifting slightly, his face in profile and staring at the floor, Galen just nodded. "Okay," he said finally, his voice suddenly soft and barely audible. "I'll get you the equipment—maybe tomorrow—and I'll have to figure out a way to block the cameras for a while. If the guards see it, we're both—"

"Airlocked. I know." Sharon watched Galen's body language carefully; he was tensing up again.

Looking at the chrono on his wrist, he swore. "I have to get out of here." Still studying the floor, fingers tapping, he seemed ready to run and yet frozen in place.

In a blur of movement, Sharon saw Galen move towards her. Fear swept through her for a second, but before she could register his intent, he was completely pressed against her. His large, warm hands grabbed her wrists, holding them against her thighs as he tilted his head over her mouth. His lips crushed into her own, bending her backwards slightly with the force of his weight against her. She gasped as his tongue wet her lips before she met the full intensity of his kiss, tangling and wet. He pulled her tightly into him, hands slipping to grip her back, his body taking over.

They both moaned as the sensations hit, movements quickening in response to the built-up emotions transferring between them. Galen's hands found their way into Boomer's long, loose hair, strands clinging to his fingers as he cupped her face before breaking apart.

Sharon stared fiercely into his eyes as they both stood there, panting and disoriented. His pupils seemed to swirl, wide and feral; she could read the fear and want and anguish pouring from his soul. He stumbled as he pivoted around to leave, and all she could see was the back of his head, shaking in disbelief, as he rushed past the cell door.

Bewildered, Boomer sank onto the cot, body trembling. The range of feeling radiating off Galen in the span of ten minutes had been breathtaking and unnerving. She couldn't escape the sense he was on the verge of killing her or frakking her, and somehow he'd managed to leave before he did either.

Her own emotions churning, Boomer wondered how she'd keep her mind occupied the rest of the day. She felt certain Tyrol would make it back with the equipment within twenty-four hours, and she needed to be ready for anything when he returned. He clearly wasn't sure of his own mind—they were in a precarious place with each other. Closing her eyes, Boomer could still feel the desire that had arced when his body made contact. And that's when it finally sank in: she was here because she wanted to be.

All those months, from resurrection to the present, Boomer had been driven by something. She'd told herself it was about finding a way to be fully Cylon while still remembering what it had been like to live with humans, and she'd convinced the other Cylons, for a while, to look for an alternative to human extinction. But when things went poorly on New Caprica, and the other Cylon Council members had begun to question her loyalty, Boomer believed they were operating from the wrong motives. She was angry they suspected her of betrayal, because until the Council had plotted to leave her abandoned in the frigid wastelands of that planet, she had not considered or taken any actions against her own kind.

Now, though, Boomer could see why the Council members who suspected her had been right. She _was_ prepared to support humans over Cylons, because she wanted go _back_. Not to the Colonials, not to an illusion of who Boomer had been, but back to him. To Galen. Everything Boomer had done, the energy propelling her, was calculated—however subconsciously—to move her closer to her goal. And really, how else could she have ever returned to the fleet, if not as a prisoner—his prisoner? The one person who wouldn't kill her for what had happened when she'd shot the Admiral, the only person she'd be willing to suffer for.

The Cylons hadn't forced Boomer into exile. She'd walked into it, because she was never a part of them. She'd managed to find the one path that could get her home. _He_ was home. And now, Boomer would help the humans defeat the Cylons, because it was her one chance to finish what she'd started on the long road to salvation. If she protected the Colonials, showed where her loyalty had actually always remained, then Galen might accept her once more. And that hope had been worth the risks behind her and ahead of her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus CIC, Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration**

Helo and Dee were on watch. CIC rotations were grueling right now, and it was taking two officers to keep track of movements, communications, and potential threats. CAP size had been doubled to conduct sweeps between the ships as well as around the perimeter of the fleet.

As he studied the dradis, Helo cursed the Fates. It was still hard to grasp that after the past few months of tension, _and_ a rescue operation that would have been considered a great victory under other circumstances, they found themselves engulfed in an internal struggle of alarming proportions. Worse, the opponents—Helo had to consider these New Capricans as insurgents now, given their actions—seemed to have no clear purpose.

The insurgents were angry at the "military" for what they perceived as failures, and they wanted to be recognized as a separate group from the Colonials who had remained in space during the New Caprican period. However, the only distinguishing feature of this separatist faction was that the people had lived on the planet, and beyond that fact, none of the group agreed on what the "demands" should be. Some wanted to organize as a new "state," able to break away from the fleet. Others wanted to be compensated in some way for their suffering as "prisoners of war." Still others wanted a complete change in military leadership and limited powers granted to the new senior officers.

None of those demands made sense to Helo. One large group, leaving the fleet, would be unlikely to survive, and both "fragments" would probably be too depleted to continue to earth or settle on another habitable planet. There were no reparations to offer New Capricans, given limited resources, and technically everyone could be considered a "prisoner of war" these days—none of the Colonial survivors had bargained for genocide at the hands of the Cylons.

Finally, the current military leadership had saved the New Capricans—both the leaders on the planet and the leaders remaining in the fleet. Replacement was not an option. Limiting power was also dangerous and short-sighted; the Colonials were still at war. This was not a peace-time debate over re-allocation of resources to reduce the influence of military. Like it or not, a "floating nation" was, by definition, a vulnerable entity. It could be attacked on any side, from 360 degrees; there were no "natural boundaries" or fortifications. As revealed in the rescue operation, the military was still in the best position to ensure the safety and unification of the fleet.

The entire situation was deeply upsetting to Helo. The Colonials needed to be focused on the identified enemy—the Cylons—not fighting one another over ghosts of what might have been. More importantly, they needed to be committed to the future—to finding _Earth_. The reason the fleet had divided itself, why it was still fragmented, was because as a people the Colonials had forgotten what had been pledged and the reasons for that pledge.

The search for Earth wasn't just about finding a place to settle. It was about finding the rest of their "tribe"—the descendants from Kobol. It was about honoring the Lords of Kobol, capricious though they might appear at times. And it was about _home_, where "home" was more than dirt and rock and air to breathe. Home was love of the land, of the people, of the gods who made it all possible, but it was also something ineffable: resonance. When the inhabitants and the planet resonated at the same energy frequency, infused with something beyond science and evolution. Of the gods, perhaps, but more than they themselves could create. Even the gods, after all, had left Kobol to search for a new home. So it was now; the Colonials couldn't stop searching until they found the affirming resonance of Earth itself. Every other attempt at settlement would fail.

The sound of Sam Anders approaching shook Helo from his inner thoughts. "Hello, Anders…Tyrol. Good to see you both." Helo gestured over to the CIC ready room. "Let's go in there to talk. Captain Dualla, you have the deck."

He could hear Dee's "Yes, Sir," as the three of them moved into the small inner space. Each took a chair, and Helo watched as Anders spread out a number of blueprints across the console.

"What've we got, Sam?"

"First, let's go over the security retrofit for the Senior Commanders' quarters section. It's primarily complete; we've got two camera installations left—here, and here—" Sam pointed to the hall coordinates—"and you're good to go. People could start moving in at 1200 tomorrow."

"That's great news—really great news." Helo took a deep inward sigh of relief; living in the Bunker was fraying nerves, testing people who'd already been asked to bear up under more prolonged, extreme stress than most could physically handle. For himself, just the prospect of privacy with his wife was enough to make him almost giddy.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Sam said, grinning briefly. A pain washed over his face immediately after, and Helo tried to understand what it signified, before he remembered that the room assignments on the blueprints clearly showed Kara was staying in Lee Adama's quarters. Helo swallowed hard, knowing he had to push the flickering feelings of guilt aside and move on quickly to the next topic. "Now tell me about the police forces training."

Anders switched documents. "We've set up stations on these ships—you can see how they're positioned in the current fleet configuration—and I'm working with Kitridge to get the arms lockers installed and stocked with the right weapons and ammunition."

Helo looked alarmed. "I thought the police weren't going to carry weapons, Anders, only the Marines. We can't have skirmishes taking place all over the ships!"

"Easy, Captain. The police won't be carrying arms, they'll just have access to them. You don't realize how bad its getting out there, Helo—even on the ships aligned with us, there're rumors of insurgents hiding among the other civilians, waiting for the signal from Hamathos to act. Galen's picked up intel suggesting they _are_ getting weapons. We could have hostage situations, riots, and yes, guerilla skirmishes. The police have to protect the civilians, and if we don't want to create panic—with Marines running up and down the halls with automatic rifles—this is the best alternative."

Helo shook his head in frustration. "Frakkers—they can't even articulate what they're fighting for, but they want blood."

Galen looked at Karl. His face was tense and somber. "They're fighting for revenge, Sir. They do want blood, but they can't drain it from the Cylon bastards who made their lives so miserable, so they're lashing out at who's available."

"But it's stupid, Chief, and it will cost them as dearly as anyone else! It makes no sense!"

"No, it doesn't, but we underestimate the insurgents if we dismiss their emotion as stupid—with respect, Sir." Galen's fist was clenched on the console; Helo realized Tyrol was using up his last reserves of control not to punch someone.

Changing his voice, Helo leaned in closer to Galen's face, meeting his gaze. "Help me understand, Chief. From where I sit, these people don't even know what they want, except to create chaos in an already frakked-up universe."

"They want…they need it to mean something. All the suffering. And they want to stop feeling guilty—for surviving. For going down there in the first place. For thinking humans could actually stop running from the Cylons."

Sam inclined his head in agreement. "Tyrol's right. There's all this anger and no way to get rid of it. The New Capricans are struggling to feel a part of anything because the people who went down to that rock aren't the people who came back. They feel different—they _are_ different."

"They're not "different" from the Colonials who remained in space—that's semantics. And it wasn't a breeze up here either! We worked so frakking hard to put that rescue together—"

"Hey, man, don't take what I said the wrong way—okay?" Sam was standing up, because Helo had gotten out of his chair, and he put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm not agreeing with the insurgents, and I'm not doubting it was tough for you—all of you. It isn't personal."

Helo sat back down. "Yeah, I knew that…sorry. I guess I'm just…we weren't prepared for this, Sam. We realized there'd be some readjustments, but an all-out civil war? I can't wrap my mind around how this is really happening."

"Believe me, I can't either." Sam let out a deep sigh. "Everything shifted, right under our feet. And there doesn't seem to be a way to…to…" he couldn't finish. Images of Kara came to mind—Kara before Leoben took her. Laughing, kissing, teasing, and cajoling—_his wife_. The woman who hadn't come back.

Galen lightly tapped Sam on the back, as a show of support. "Let's finish up the briefing here, so we can take a break and get some sleep before our next shift."

Helo watched the two men, noting the concern on Galen's face for his friend. The guilt swung back into his chest with full force.

"Yeah, we can wrap this up pretty quickly. I guess the last piece of business is covering the scuttlebutt from the fleet ships. You mentioned the rumors about the insurgents arming themselves…what el—"

Loud alarms blared and the warning lights came on. All three jumped forward and into the CIC. "Dualla, sit rep!" Helo moved quickly around the console to get a good view of the dradis and other system readings.

"Three incoming raiders, Sir. Likely on a scout mission. Not detecting any sign of basestars."

Move CAP to intercept and tell them to make it fast. The Cylons have probably gotten lonely without us—they're likely to jump in a basestar right over our heads."

"Yes, Sir." Dee started issuing orders through the wireless.

Karl turned to Hoshi. "We identified a jump location in our last briefing—send the coordinates to the other ships now."

Helo watched the telemetry and listened to the viper pilots. Racetrack was point, which was a stroke of good fortune; she'd know how to make quick work of the raiders.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hoshi's face lock in concern, and then realized the officer's conversation had been transferred to Dualla. Once on the call, she immediately began pacing, arguing with the person on the other end.

"Hoshi, what's going on?" Helo asked, as he mentally kept track of the vipers' progress on dradis.

It's the ship Helios, Sir—she's refusing to jump. She's at the back of the fleet line; her captain's instruments aren't picking up the raiders, so apparently he thinks this is a…I believe the word he used was 'ploy'—to scare the fleet so they'll feel more loyal to the military."

"Frak me!" Helo said in disbelief. "Are they out of their frakkin' minds?" He moved over to Dee. Dualla! Hang up." Sweeping back to the console, he barked "Hoshi—fleet-wide comm—now!"

Hoshi nodded for Helo to proceed. "Fleet, this is Captain Karl Agathon of the Battlestar Pegasus. We are under attack. Repeat—we are under attack. Cylon Basestar arrival imminent. This is not a drill. Prepare to jump on our mark."

The dradis showed two of the raiders were taken out; Racetrack was on the tail of the last one.

"Sir," Hoshi called out, "three more fleet ships are also refusing to spool up FTL drives."

"Godsdamnit!" Helo muttered under his breath. He flipped on the comm again. "This is the Pegasus. Any ship that does not jump will risk being destroyed by a basestar. There won't be other defenses. All vessels must engage FTLs immediately."

Shaking his head, Hoshi said, "no responses, Sir."

"Fine. Put me through to the flight squadron." Helo worked to even out his voice, not let the anger seep through. "Racetrack, the raiders are gone. Head back to the barn. All vipers—head back to the barn."

"Sir, the Admiral's asking for you—he's been monitoring the situation from the Bunker—"

"Transfer to console, Hoshi." Helo picked up the receiver. "Sir."

"_We're not on speaker…"_

"No Sir."

"_This has to be a trap set by Hamathos; they've probably been waiting for the chance to put the plan in action. Once the Cylons showed up, Hamathos knew we'd be damned if we do and damned if we don't—if we jump, we leave those 'New Caprican' ships without defenses, and if we don't jump, we risk the whole fleet being attacked in a new location._"

"I realize that, Sir." It was obvious Hamathos intended to make the strategy pay politically, knowing the military could be painted in a bad light either way.

"What are your orders, Admiral?"

"_We jump. They have the coordinates; when they see the Cylon ships, they'll be motivated to meet up with the rest of us."_

"Consider it done."

Helo hung up the receiver. "Status of FTL, Dualla."

"Ready."

"Hoshi, send the signal."

They watched as the ships flashed out of systems range; as soon as the last of the cooperating vessels was gone, the Pegasus jumped too.

Dualla called out the all clear once she tracked all of the expected ships in the new location. Hoshi let Helo know he thought he'd picked up the signal of a basestar on dradis right before the FTL drive kicked in.

The CIC was silent as the officers and crew waited to see if the three insurgent ships would reappear.

Hoshi turned around to face Helo. "The board's flooded with calls about the ships that stayed behind—"

"They'll have to hold on and see. We're all waiting to find out."

Two minutes later, the Helios showed up on dradis, followed by the Apocrypha. Both were damaged, according to the viper pilot who'd been at the ready was conducting the fly-by. The third vessel's fate, relayed by the clearly shaken captain of the Helios, was complete destruction.

Patched into the captains of two damaged ships, Helo tried to assess the immediate danger to those aboard and to the surrounding vessels. The Apocrypha agreed to abandon ship, shutting down engines and venting all fuel to prevent an explosion. Scrambling to make arrangements for the three hundred civilians aboard, Helo reluctantly decided the raptors would ferry those people to Pegasus; a side storage deck would have to serve as a shelter until better accommodations could be secured.

As for the other ship, the Helios needed repairs, but the captain indicated he could relocate people away from the damaged areas and onto other levels. Karl was relieved he didn't have to find cots or supplies beyond the three hundred from the Apocrypha; he wasn't sure he could have dug up anything else. As it was, there would probably be civilians sleeping on the metal deck floor. They'd have to set up portable heaters to hope to keep everyone from developing mild hypothermia.

The tap on the back from Tyrol startled Helo. "Gods, I totally forgot…you and Sam are still here."

"What do you need us to do, Captain?" Galen's look was earnest, but Helo couldn't help but notice how tired the man really was.

"No, no, you and Sam take your down shift, as planned. You both look like you could use it. We've got things covered."

Galen didn't protest; he was barely holding on after the emotions and pace of the day, and he still needed to slip away unnoticed long enough to find the amplifier and receiver for Boomer.

"Thanks, Helo. We'll contact you in the Bunker as soon as the final work's completed in the Senior Quarters section tomorrow."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Junior Officers' Section, End of Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration**

Sam sank into the chair at the foot of his bed, pulling his boots off with a low moan of relief. He was glad to have a little time to himself; his emotions had been too close to the surface all day, and he wanted to be in a quiet place where he could try to clear his head. Maybe Galen was off doing the same thing. Sam could tell something had been eating at the guy. He assumed it had something to do with Boomer, but at the moment, he was grateful he didn't have to console anyone else.

It wasn't that Sam hadn't known about the "living arrangements" for Kara before now; he'd seen the blueprints five days ago. But that knowledge had slowly eaten away at his core until he was ready to implode, and ground zero was today. Sam had heard it was Helo's doing, but he couldn't bring himself to ask Karl, or he might do something he'd regret. Realizing, however, that tomorrow was it—Lee and Sam's _wife_ would be sharing the same room, while Sam was housed on another floor—that squeezed his chest so tight he thought he'd pass out from the lack of oxygen.

Hoping he could take a few shots of Galen's rotgut version of alcohol and fall asleep before his thoughts turned more morose, Sam walked over to Tyrol's closet. The sound of the door comm startled him; he almost dropped the bottle as he tried to register what the noise meant.

Opening the hatch, he was happy to see Tory standing there, smiling warmly.

"Gods, Tory, it's good to see you! It's been, what, a week? How did you know I was here?"

"Um, could you save the questions until after you've invited me in?" Tory said with a bemused look.

"Oh, right, gods…where's my head…" Sam reached out to grab Tory's wrist and lightly tug her forward past the hatch. Without another word, he pulled her in for a long, full hug.

They stayed that way for a moment, both clearly a little overcome with emotions they hadn't completely expected. "I guess I missed you more than I knew," Sam murmured in her ear.

"Yeah," Tory commented as she finally pulled away. "I suppose, when you're used to seeing someone every day for the better part of a year…"

Sam silently agreed, though something in the pit of his stomach suggested that wasn't all of it.

"Well, you're just in time for some of Tyrol's great brew—wanna have a drink with me?" Sam smiled as he talked to her, but Tory detected the sadness hovering in the back of his throat.

"What's the occasion?" she said, hoping to get him to open up about the heaviness clearly hanging over him.

"None—just happy to unwind after a grinding shift," he muttered.

"Is that how you unwind—drowning sorrows? That's not the Sam I remember."

He cocked his head at her, a sneer forming at the corners of his mouth. "Did you come to judge my methods, or join me in unwinding? I'm really too tired if it's just to be the judging."

Tory hung her head a bit. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to be that…you seem…I just wanted to find out what's wrong."

Sam turned away, pouring liquor in glasses. "What makes you think there's—"

"Don't do that, Sam. I've been friends with you long enough to know when you're upset about Kara. So tell me about it. Have you talked to her? How is she?"

Sam spun around, nearly spilling the glass in his hand. He gave it to Tory. "I haven't seen her at all. You'd know more about how she's doing than I would—aren't you staying in the Bunker?"

"Well, yes, but I…I assumed she'd gotten in touch with you by wireless, at least."

"Nope." He flopped into the chair next to Tory, taking a long drink from his cup.

There was simply silence for a few minutes, and Tory sank back into her chair, trying to relax. The conversation had taken an immediate and strange turn; it wasn't what she'd bargained for in coming to visit Sam, but she sensed she shouldn't leave until she helped him get into a better frame of mind.

He downed two glasses of alcohol in less than sixty seconds, then, with a loud exhale, leaned forward, head bent towards the floor. "She's moving in with Apollo tomorrow."

"What? Who is?" Tory was confused.

"Kara. Starbuck. You're all relocating to permanent quarters in another 24 hours, and those two were assigned the same berth. The great Apollo and Starbuck."

Tory's mouth hung open as she tried to piece together what Sam was actually saying.

"How do you…how did that…happen?"

"It's on the blueprints for the security; I'm not sure how it was arranged, but rumor has it that Helo set it up that way."

"Why, though, Sam? I know those two are close, but—"

"They used to be lovers. At least, I think they were. Here—read for yourself." Sam pulled out the piece of paper from under his mattress and handed it to Tory. She read carefully, hand over her lips, brow furrowed in concern.

"Are you sure this is from…"

"Galen confirmed it's Lee's handwriting. I found it with Kara's things from New Caprica."

Oh, Sam. I don't know what to say…" Tory was reviewing scenes in her mind from the last few days. She had to admit, in this light, there was an intimacy between them that could be more than friendship; the brushing touches, whispered comments, and knowing looks. But there was a hesitancy there as well; they weren't sure of one another.

"You need to talk to her, Sam, ask her about it openly. She had ample opportunity with Lee before she went back to Caprica for you; she married you. That has to mean something significant."

Sam laughed sarcastically. "You'd think. But you don't know my wife. Sometimes she'll do the opposite of what she wants, just to prove she doesn't _need_ that thing. That_ person_."

"You can't know when this was written. It looks worn, old. Maybe they had a past, but it doesn't mean they have a future."

"Helo knows something. He wouldn't have been as bold to arrange this unless he had a clear reason, a sign from Kara. Otherwise, he'd incur her wrath, and no one would willingly step into that."

Tory sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching Sam. She reached out to take his hand and held it tightly. He looked over at her, his lower lip trembling, and then the tears started to fall. Without hesitation, she rose from her chair and knelt in front of him, pulling him into her arms for comfort. Tory stroked his back, silently wishing she knew something healing to say or do.

Leaning away, she wrapped her hands around Sam's face, looking deep into his eyes. An internal struggle seemed to move across his features, and Tory had the strangest feeling he wanted to kiss her. She understood she needed to break the connection temporarily, regain normal footing, and she rocked back on her heels to stand. Sam rose with her, his hands holding her arms to keep her body close to him.

Tory wanted to look away, but something in his gaze forced her still. As he moved his face close to hers, she was horrified to realize the tingle in her spine—anticipation. _Oh gods, I want him to kiss me…what's wrong with me?_

His lips were warm as they claimed hers—light but not tentative. He pulled her tight against his chest and began kissing her with fervor, a rapid succession of nipping and gliding and coaxing. It was intense, and Tory found herself sinking into the thrall of his presence, letting the kiss deepen into something too intimate to explain away later as a misunderstanding. His hands were playing with her hair, exposing her neck, and when he began using his tongue against her ear, she moaned.

Sharply she pushed Sam from her. "We can't do this, Sam…you don't want to do this. We're just—"

"I do, though. _I do_." He drew her back quickly, wrapping his hand behind her neck and kissing her with force. The passion was real, whatever the reasons bringing it forward. Tory was matching his intensity, stunned at her feelings surging to the surface. How long had she been harboring this attraction to him in her subconscious?

Sam, sensing she was pliant in his arms again, began drawing his fingers in long lines along her torso, her arms, her back. He was skilled, Tory realized, more sensual and fluid in his movements than she would have previously imagined. _I'm in real trouble here. _

The next kisses were deep and tender; Tory lost awareness of things other than need and emotional longing...his, hers, and something forming between them that felt like fate claiming its due.

His hands were warm and unexpectedly smooth as he worked her clothes off and reveled in her curves. "You're stunning," he whispered, and Tory found herself shivering from the timbre of awe in his voice. Something deep in her chest caught flame. She started grabbing his shirt to pull it over his head, and everything escalated into a desperate interplay of fingers, lips, and muscles under hot skin, guided by the alternating rhythms of moaning.

"Sam, Sam," Tory found herself repeating. She was overwhelmed with sensations; the smell of his skin was addictive, the sensitivity of his touch mesmerizing. They staggered together towards his bunk, and he moved above her, letting his mouth trace patterns all over her body. He stroked between her legs, groaning in appreciation as her slender, toned legs slid apart.

As Sam finally sank himself within her, his size brought a shocking depth of pleasure, causing Tory to open her eyes in surprise. She caught the wonder on his face too, a deep moan escaping as he started thrusting. His blue eyes were penetrating as he sought out something in her expression. She stared back, her hands drifting up to his face. When he shifted position, they moaned again and her legs wrapped tight around his thighs to match his timing. Tory arched her neck, losing herself in the building tensions, until his hand cradled her head and she was captured by the emotional pitch in his voice as he murmured her name. They locked eyes, unnamed expressions of meaning being revealed.

All at once, the intensity was too much; Tory turned aside to break the spell. A different kind of desperation pushed them now; as Tory went over the edge, she felt the tears swell. Shame was rising up where need…_and what other emotions?_...had centered in her chest before. Sam came with a pained cry, and almost immediately moved to Tory's back as soon as she rolled on her side. He held her lightly, sensing he wouldn't be allowed the privilege for long; two minutes later, she sprang up from the bunk, almost frantically grabbing at the pile of clothing on the floor.

Sam jumped up, frightened. He didn't want her leaving this way. "Tory…hey. Come on, slow down a sec!" He pulled on his pants and managed to grab her arm before she made it to the hatch.

"Let me go." Her voice was low and controlled; Sam knew that was a sign she was very upset.

"No. Not until you at least look at me. Please, Tory, we're…I have to make sure…I can't _lose_ you." He swallowed the last words, his gut roiling with anxiety as he cupped her face.

"Sam," Tory said helplessly. "This was a mistake. We're both raw, missing other people we've lost. You weren't…this wasn't about me. And I wasn't…gods, Sam, Tom's only been dead _two weeks_. I was so wrong to let this _happen_. I can't explain how…" her voice trailed off. She wasn't able to frame into words what seemed to have passed between them. She knew it felt like something significant had manifested itself, but that couldn't be true. They were both in love with other people. And Sam still had a chance with his partner, even if she didn't.

Her voice turned pleading. "Think about Kara, Sam. Nothing can substitute for what you've had…you have to fight for that. Or settle it. But we can't use…anything else as a crutch."

Tory stepped out of Sam's grip, and this time he let her go. "Tory, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if this—if it changes us. How we are together. You do mean a lot to me." His throat was rough with tears held in check.

Turning quickly, she gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Sam. And tal—" she struggled to get the words out—"talk to Kara." Tory left the room, the hatch making an eerie sound as it sealed behind her.

Sam sank to the floor, sitting with legs crossed, almost in a stupor. He tried to put his thoughts in order, looking over the events of the past hour hoping to figure out what was really going on internally.

Tory was absolutely right; his grief and jealousy over Kara had driven his initial actions. But that wasn't all of it. His feelings, when he'd gazed into Tory's eyes, were real and separate from the other emotional storms he'd been grappling with. And they'd been returned by Tory—he hadn't imagined that—she was obviously surprised by the power of her own responses.

Fear still sat high and tight in the back of his chest. He was really afraid he might lose Tory's friendship, and the pain of that, layered on top of the loss of Kara's love, seemed to force all air out of his lungs. But he couldn't think about Tory any more at this point; it wasn't right. He had to talk to his wife, find out what was really going on. He wasn't prepared to write off his marriage, his passion for Kara, and he needed to do exactly what Tory had said—fight for her or settle things. He had to start getting some answers. He couldn't be whole again until he worked out what he meant to Kara, and if Lee was a threat or…_or a crutch_. It was time Kara made things plain.

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**Sit Rep: The Bunker, End of Day Thirteen, Operation Restoration**

Everyone had gathered in the Bunker for the evening planning meetings. Faces were drawn and tired; no one was getting good rest and the tensions inside and outside the room were escalating.

After forty-five minutes of heated arguments over how to address the "New Caprican" issue, Adama decided the people in the room had been stretched too thin, at least in the moment. They weren't solving problems, they were creating them—with one another. Tigh and Thrace were nearly at blows, Tory Foster was withdrawn and unusually inarticulate when asked questions, and Lee was visibly in poor health—sweating, hands shaking, comments rushed and disjointed. He'd clearly pushed himself too far on the stims; Cottle had refused to give Lee any additional supply, and was threatening to force him into a long stay in Life Station if he didn't start looking after himself.

It was when Roslin and Karl Agathon got into a heated exchange, however, that Adama declared an end to the meeting and a mandatory "lights out" in thirty minutes. He'd rarely seen Helo lose his temper, but the Captain had actually started yelling at Laura. Adama knew that was a definite sign of frayed nerves; if Helo was at that stage, then the others in the room were surely in worse phases.

The Admiral hoped that the relocation to private quarters the following day would bring some immediate relief to the leadership team. If there was one thing he was realizing, based on his session with the psychiatrist, it was that all of the people currently in the Bunker had been through repeated, exhaustive trauma. While having external crises to focus on meant they could keep themselves distracted, it also meant they couldn't actually deal with anything going on internally. Emotions that hit without warning, memories that came, unbidden, to the front of the mind at inappropriate moments—these "aftershocks" of trauma could derail them at a precipitous moment.

Every person in that Bunker needed time to collect his or her thoughts and nurse unseen wounds. Even though Adama himself was not partial to Dr. Martin, or the tactics of any shrink, he recognized the people around him needed help. Things were falling apart at the seams; it was unjust, unfair, disturbing—and probably par for the course. He needed to make sure all of them—himself included—started acknowledging the impact of the past and taking time to clear their heads. If they didn't, he was truly afraid they might finally reach the collective breaking point. Surviving so much, to lose it all now—Bill had to be certain that didn't happen.

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Lee flipped restlessly in his bunk. He was exhausted and ragged, but his mind would give him no peace. Or, more accurately, his heart wouldn't. Four nights ago, he'd held her. They'd…he'd caressed her, pleasured her, _treasured her_. And he was sure Kara was…that she'd wanted him to…he didn't understand where he'd gone wrong. Lee hadn't pressured her, he hadn't blurted out he loved her, he hadn't asked for explanations. He hadn't _asked_ for anything. Was he destined to push her away simply by the _existence_ of his love for her?

The nightmares were still happening with Kara, he was sure of that. He could hear her every night—muttered half-words, whimpers, and thrashing. Her lack of sleep was evident to all, because she was deteriorating rapidly—dark circles under her eyes and increasingly erratic, angry behavior. But she didn't come to Lee's rack for comfort, and he was too worried to go to hers instead. It was driving him insane, keeping him from sleep too, because he wanted to do something. He wanted to soothe her fears, if nothing else, and make sure she got some rest. Long experience, however, stopped him from taking action, because he was certain his overtures would be interpreted as pressure.

He'd already tried to broach a more personal conversation with Kara two days ago, and she'd turned heel on him so abruptly he'd hardly registered he was talking to himself. Kara had moved over to a conversation with Tyrol, Helo, and Sharon, carefully fixing her gaze away from where Lee'd been standing with her only fleeting moments before. He'd taken the hint.

Which left Lee with the familiar, uncomfortable ache. He wasn't sure if her behavior was related to the suffering on New Caprica or to fears that Lee would expect more intimacy in the future. That's what he'd hoped to explain when he'd tried to talk to her—that he knew how to give her space. He wasn't going to place any demands on her, physical or otherwise. He just wanted to be…gods, it was easier to describe what he _didn't_ want to be. He _didn't_ want to be shut out; he _didn't_ want to be an emotional mess longing for her from afar any more; he _didn't_ want to be without the sound of her voice and the comfort of her gaze.

Right now, of course, he was facing all those things. She didn't talk to him, didn't touch him, didn't look at him. And he was withering away in the freezing cold. Again.

But Lee knew he couldn't afford to be bitter. He could even less afford to interpret her actions as a personal rejection. He was all too aware what the situation felt like; still, that didn't mean it was actually what he feared. Because it _was_ based on his singular terror: that he was doomed to repeat his failings with Kara Thrace. And Lee Adama had resolved that wasn't reality. He wouldn't permit a lack of mental discipline to derail him—or them.

If she needed space, he shouldn't tell her about it, he should just give it. If he didn't expect continued intimacy, he needn't explain that either—he just had to make sure he truly wasn't expecting anything.

One more possibility struck Lee the previous night, as he tossed fitfully; she might have withdrawn from him because she was still in love with her husband. Gods knew Kara hadn't had any opportunity to talk to Sam in the last week, and given her reluctance to discuss anything heavy, it wasn't likely she'd have addressed the status of their marriage, even if she'd had a chance to. Lee needed to be willing to accept that Kara might want to resume her relationship with Sam. At the very least, she was probably uncertain about where things stood, and it would take time for her to sort things out with her husband. Lee would be expected to give them room. He would insist, for himself, that he gave her that space too.

Awkwardly, tomorrow the two of them would be living in quarters together. When Kara and Lee had first been told about the assignments, she hadn't protested; Lee had interpreted that as a positive sign. Now, he was beginning to dread the change. He definitely had to prepare himself that she might not stay out the week there.

That last bit of reality somehow hit the hardest. Lee sighed audibly, pressing his palms against his eyes as he lay on his back, willing himself not to cry. Overwhelming grief began pushing down on him; he was in the grip of counting losses. Between the brewing civil war, the physical limitations with his leg, and the rollercoaster moments with Kara, he was struggling to find something to feel hopeful about. It was a dangerous juncture, on so many levels, and he felt inadequate to the tasks ahead.

Loud words made Lee jerk up, resting on his arms as he listened in a state of hyper-alertness.

"Let me the frak out of here! I'll frakking kill you where you stand if you don't!"

Rapidly padding feet could be heard as someone ran past Lee's bunk; he recognized the shadow as Kara's. She was the one yelling. Lee turned around to look behind; no one else was standing there. _Who was she talking to? Was she having a walking night terror? _

Heavy banging on the metal hatch filled the area with sound. Kara was screaming in rage as she swung a metal coffeepot against the door. "Open the frakking cell! Open the godsdamn frakkin' cell! I can't breathe in here anymore…" she staggered back slightly, swinging the pot widely as she spun around. "You sonofabitch—think you can keep me locked up here—I've killed you before and I'll do it again!"

Lee was out of his rack, taking quick strides towards Kara. Helo was also approaching. They wordlessly took up positions to Kara's left and right; she didn't acknowledge them as she flung herself at the hatch again. "Let me out!" she shrieked. "Let me out, Let me out, let me out!"

The door opened, several marines peering into the darkness of the Bunker. Lee and Helo held up their hands to signal the soldiers should stay outside. The light flooded the area around the hatch; both men could tell Kara wasn't making sense of her surroundings at all. She squinted, her arm with the coffeepot falling. The metal object dropped out of her hand and clanked on the floor.

Stepping forward, Lee tried to talk to her. "Kara, it's okay. You're on the Pegasus—remember? Wake up, Starbuck. It's time to wake up."

Kara looked at him strangely. "Lee. You know those mind tricks won't work with me. I know you're pumping me with drugs so I won't remember, can't keep it all straight, but it isn't enough. I'm still going to kill you, motherfrakker!"

She lunged at him with a feral grunt, her leg unexpectedly sweeping out to knock Apollo off balance. He smacked down hard against the metal, his bad leg stuttering wildly along the slick surface. In another second, Kara was standing over him, her foot poised to strike him fully in his face. "Killed you this way before, bastard, and I'll be happy to do it again."

Lee moaned; he'd hit his head as he fell, and everything was blurry. He realized Kara was standing over him, but he didn't understand what she intended to do until he saw her foot swinging straight for his nose. _ She's going to take me out_, he thought, as he tried to move. His body wasn't responding.

Suddenly Kara was half in the air as Karl lifted her away from Lee's body at the last possible second. She was screaming and flailing; Karl almost fell himself as he fought for control. Two Marines rushed forward to help him; they grabbed her arms and legs. Cottle moved up quickly and put a shot into Kara's arm; moments later, her body went limp.

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Adama, Laura, Lee, Helo, and Cottle huddled on the sofas. No one else was sleeping, but Cottle wanted to limit this medical discussion to as few people as possible. Laura had insisted she had information that would help explain Kara's mental state, which was the only reason Cottle reluctantly allowed her to join in the conversation.

"So, Roslin, what do you know about Kara's imprisonment on New Caprica?" Cottle asked with some sarcasm.

"Leoben put the two of us together for a while as one of his sick experiments. He wanted to see what I might tell her about the Resistance."

"Go on," Adama said gently. He resented the glares from Cottle, and knew Laura needed support. Leoben's "experiments" had damaged more than one person.

"Leoben was keeping her heavily medicated—he did the same with me," Roslin continued.

Adama nodded. "And with me."

"She was in bad shape….Leoben had been working her over for months by then. Her foot had been broken; she was on crutches. Kara didn't even recognize me at first—she could barely form sentences."

Lee ground his teeth together, and caught Helo's look of sympathy in his direction. They were both feeling guilty for not reaching New Caprica sooner.

Laura took a deep breath. "It became clear that the Cylon had twisted a lot of things in Kara's mind, confusing her. He forced her to—" she looked at Apollo carefully—"he forced her to say she 'loved' him. And he told her she had to call him 'Lee.'"

Adama tensed, staring in disbelief at Laura. "What do you mean? Why would the Cylon—"

"He thought it was a special name she had for _him_. Leoben didn't realize she was referring to someone else." Lee swallowed hard after he made the statement; it was hard to explain, and even harder to believe, sometimes. He hadn't allowed himself to think much about what had transpired in the Cellar with that Cylon, how disorienting and unsettling it had been.

Helo examined Apollo's face intently. "How did you find out?"

"Before we escaped. In the Cellar…Leoben found us. She kept calling him Lee and only recognized me as Apollo. Leoben was trying to control her, get her to help him—"

"That makes no sense, Lee. Kara wouldn't help—" Adama interrupted, perplexed.

"Bill, there are techniques of torture, in long-term hostage situations, that can unravel the mind. What Apollo and Roslin are describing—it's possible the Cylon really had her mixed up." Cottle nodded at Lee. "Continue, son."

"Leoben thought 'Lee' was short for his name. The sick frak—" Apollo fought for emotional control—"Kara talked in her sleep sometimes. I guess my name came out. The Cylon was arrogant enough to assume somehow it was directed at him."

Laura looked at Lee in surprise. "So she remembered you as Apollo, to keep those thoughts separate. Gods, it must have been so frightening and chaotic, trying to hold onto a sense of who she was in the midst of that."

A lump formed high in Lee's throat. "She tried to fight back; that's what she meant about 'killing' Lee—Leoben more than once. He just kept resurrecting to torture her all over again."

Helo shook his head. "What a colossal mind-frak. Gods. I knew she was tough, but I can't imagine what it's taken for her to…" his eyes welled. He marveled she was functioning at all. And they didn't know the half of it. Karl doubted the broken foot was her only physical injury during that time period.

"Why now, Doc? What triggered her reaction tonight?" Adama was wondering how to handle the situation, how to help Kara.

"If I had to guess, it's her lack of sleep. I warned her, if she didn't get real rest, there'd be mental problems. She won't take any sleeping aids, because she was drugged for so long, but without them…" Cottle shrugged his shoulders.

Lee winced, knowing that she'd been sleeping when she'd come to his rack those few nights; he'd ruined the safety of that, letting desire overrule common sense, and now she was paying the price.

"We're all supposed to relocate to quarters tomorrow. Given what's happened, do we need to make changes for her? Does she need to be in sickbay for a while?" The Admiral still wasn't sure what Cottle had in mind.

"I think…let's leave things as planned. She shouldn't be alone, in case her sleep-walking becomes a more serious problem. And I'm going to order her to use the meds at night, over her objections. I'll inject her every time, if it comes to that, if she refuses to take the oral dose. We don't need a psychotic Thrace running around the CIC."

Adama raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "Are you sure that Lee is…I mean, given the circumstances with the Cylon…"

"It's better if it's Lee, in my estimation. She has to be reminded of the reality—that Apollo and Lee are the same person and that Leoben was a Cylon bastard. I'll check with Dr. Martin, but I feel confident she'll agree. Kara's probably better off if Lee's nearby, for the time being." Cottle met the Admiral's gaze with conviction. He'd seen Kara's responses in sickbay—to Sam and to Lee—and while he didn't want to describe the events of those hours to the people in the room, he was sure he was making the best decision overall.

As the group broke up and quiet permeated the Bunker again, everyone's mood was somber. The costs of the last few months hadn't really been measured yet. Whatever happened within the fleet next, it was becoming clear that the New Capricans had faced unique, terrible circumstances; it was essential to acknowledge the dissidents had legitimate feelings, even if their approach for redress was ill-considered and poorly articulated. Kara was an example of the tragedies many had experienced, in some part, while on New Caprica.

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**Sit Rep: Senior Officers Quarters Section, Day Fifteen, Operation Restoration**

Kara bit her lower lip as she concentrated on the repair of the sim board components. The parts were strewn across the table; she pulled the portable lamp closer to squint at the tiny wires she was trying to reroute. She cursed as she dropped the tweezers she'd been using and attempted to shake out her hand. There was a slight tremor in her fingers, throwing off her accuracy, and she didn't want to think about why it was there or what it might take to get it to stop.

Desperate to find something to occupy her time, Kara had originally begged to work on viper repairs, but Cottle had nixed the idea. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd approved; the Old Man was in a tizzy over security and protecting his "leadership team." He was prohibiting any of them from taking shifts outside of the CIC. It was driving Kara over the edge—she'd been cooped up inside a small space for months, unable to have any say in where she went or with whom, and after her rescue, it just seemed like more of the same.

Her—_their_—new quarters were comfortable, by military standards, but the size and design reminded her too much of the cell Leoben had kept her in. Of course, everything seemed to remind her of that awful place, mocking her attempts to reconnect with her former life, her world before New Caprica.

It was Helo who'd suggested Kara work on the viper simulation equipment; she was grateful he'd thought of something that could keep her occupied and meet the Admiral's quarters restrictions. One of the Marines had hauled two sim machine motherboards over, also carrying the tools she'd need to fix the delicate components. The Marine had brought a portable laptop for the programming tasks; once Kara managed to get the boards functioning, the real fun could begin, creating new test scenarios for the viper pilots. It would give her a chance to start thinking like a pilot herself. Gods knew it had been too long.

Kara sighed as she tried to figure out how much time had to pass before someone would let her back in an actual cockpit. She was out of shape, with physical problems to boot. But of course, that wasn't the worst of it. The mental "issues" were what concerned everyone else the most; she could see it on their faces, this strained look of worry whenever she caught their eyes. Since her little nighttime meltdown forty-eight hours ago, people had been overly nice and too distant at the same time; she hated it.

Then there was Apollo. She was so confused by her own behavior, and she cringed every time she allowed herself to consider what he must be thinking. After that night…what had been shared between them…her reactions were unexpected and painful. Images of Apollo mixed with images of CylonLee…she kept trying to sort it all out, but her mind was scrambled.

There were too many memories of the Cylon climbing on top of her; Kara must have floated in and out of awareness a lot, when he was…was violating her. When she had to say that name, and the drugs made her forget what was real and what was in the past, she couldn't keep track of what was happening, who was having sex with her, and sometimes…sometimes…Kara couldn't accept what she'd realized. Her body had…_responded_. Despite the circumstances, when she'd lose track of who was really with her, where she was, falling into distant memories or simply blanking out from the meds, her body had seemed separate from her sense of self.

It was shameful to view how her body had betrayed her, how she'd betrayed her body. She seethed with hatred for the Cylon, but she was just as disgusted with herself. _ How could I have…what sick person actually responds when in that situation? Did that mean I was encouraging CylonLee? Maybe it's my fault he kept frakking me; he thought I wanted it. _

"_Shut the frak up Thrace,"_ she said aloud, pushing herself to renew her efforts with the motherboard. The damage was extensive; Kara had to wonder what had blown out the circuitry. _"Looks like a power surge went through the damned thing, but what would have caused it in that section of the ship?" _Karafound herself laughing harshly—maybe she really was going crazy, as she was officially talking to herself.

A door comm went off. Kara wiped her hands on her pants and went over, wondering who might be visiting. An image of Dee popped into her head; she gulped while she opened the door.

Sam Anders stood there. Kara gasped, immediately wishing that hadn't been her first reaction, as Sam recoiled, his eyes darting to the floor.

"Gods, Sammy. Wow. I…glad to see you. Come in." Kara stepped aside, simultaneously realizing how awkward it must be for the man, coming to Lee Adama's quarters to see his long-absent wife.

She watched as Sam scanned the room, taking in the additional single rack built into the wall and Kara's belongings sitting on the shelf above it.

"We're roommates, nothing more," Kara said, secretly wondering why it felt strange to say that and irritated she felt the necessity to explain.

"Okay," was all Sam managed to get out in reply.

Knowing it was probably difficult for him to figure out what to do next, Kara stepped close and moved in to give him a hug. He stiffened in surprise at first but quickly returned the embrace.

"I _am_ glad to see you, Sam," she repeated gently. He just nodded, continuing to hold her close.

"Have a seat," Kara gestured. A small couch fit into one corner of the room; as he eased into it, she took up a spot on her bunk.

"So, Galen's told us a few things about your exploits on New Caprica—said you're a natural leader." Kara squirmed; she'd wanted to say something positive and kind, but it came out stilted.

He didn't talk, just kept his keen eyes trained on her. Kara squirmed again. Breaking the gaze, she studiously examined the rivets in the floor.

In a burst of expression, Sam stammered, "I tried to rescue you. I'd worked so hard on the plan, and we made it to the right area, but that Cylon prick had moved you. You and Roslin. I'm so sorry that we couldn't…that I didn't…" his face contorted in anguish.

"Sam, it's alright. I swear to you, it is. I knew you would have…Galen made sure to describe how well-designed and executed the plan was. I never doubted you'd go through hell to…to…find me." Kara's voice sounded so small, even to herself; she wondered why nothing came normally any more.

"Then how come you didn't—haven't—tried to talk to me? Find me? I thought maybe you were angry, that you stayed away because you believed I didn't try." Sam stood up, coming to kneel in front of her. He put his hands on her knees. "Why, Kara?"

She felt the tears sear her cheeks. His face was so earnest. Gods help him; he loved her. Didn't he understand the Kara he knew was gone, and this woman in front of him couldn't be with him?

"I'm…I apologize. Truly." With a sob, Kara leaned forward, her hands falling to his shoulders as she planted a kiss on his forehead. He shifted on his feet, moving to kiss her; he grazed her lips before she managed to turn her head aside.

"I can't…please don't do that. It's too—"

Anger flashed in Sam's eyes. "What, are only men named after gods allowed to kiss Kara Thrace now?"

She looked at him, slightly terrified. "That's not how it is, Sammy. I told you." Kara raised her eyebrows as her eyes narrowed. She held her breath, wondering what he was going to tell her next: Had he somehow learned about her night with Lee on New Caprica, the fateful eve of their impromptu wedding? Did Galen know and tell Sam about what had happened a few days ago in the Bunker? Or had Sam just finally learned how to see right through the lies she told even herself?

"Right. Stupid me. Kara, don't you think it's about time you told me the real history of you and the illustrious Lee Adama?" Sam was standing again, his body language emanating rage.

Kara went into survival mode, senses shifting gears. She watched him like an animal taking stock of another creature, sizing up the danger and the best route for escape or attack.

"What are you driving at?" she said evenly. She needed more information—she still wasn't sure of the creature she was dealing with.

"Driving at? _Driving_ at. How about this, Kara. The love letter, poem, whatever it is that you valued enough to drag all over the frakkin' universe!" Sam pulled a folded piece of paper out of his vest pocket and waved it in her face.

Kara saw the coloring and folds and knew right away what he was holding. She felt panic and relief in the same moment—despite the costs, the fact the document survived New Caprica to make it back to her gave her a shot of unexpected hope, like an allegory for her whole improbable relationship with Apollo.

With caution, Kara put out her hand to take the paper from Sam. As she opened it, slowly stroking the page wide, her eyes fell upon the words "This bitter pill I swallow is the silence that I keep. It poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep."_ Will you keep your silence now, Kara? _She heard Apollo's voice internally, asking the question.

Kara opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. She wasn't sure how to start. Finally, with a whooshing of air, as she shut her eyes and slid her hands down her thighs, she threw herself into the words.

"It's a po—a _love_ poem. Apollo wrote it nearly five years ago; he gave it to me at Zak's funeral. He was saying goodbye, and that was his way of telling me what I meant to him and why I wasn't going to be seeing him again after that horrific day."

"So you were _lovers_ before that. While you were…while you were with Zak?" Sam was stunned.

Kara nodded, new tears falling, glistening against her eyelashes. "It began before him, though, before Zak."

"What the frak is wrong with you, Kara? Is this your M.O., stringing two men along at a time? Gods!" Sam slammed his hand on the table; computer components clattered against metal.

Kara stood up, her defiant streak making a brief appearance. "It wasn't like that. Frak you, Sam. You wanted to know the truth, so here's the whole thing. The _whole_ of it. We met while I was still in the Academy; we didn't tell each other at the time, but we—" Kara started shaking, because she'd never said it aloud before—"we fell in love with each other." _Gods, that was so strange, actually getting the phrase out…_

"There wasn't any time to be together, though; Apollo was already a commissioned officer assigned to the Eos. It was a long-term, deep-space mission—top secret. He put Zak in touch with me—I was supposed to help him with classes at the Academy—but I think it was Apollo's way of making sure someone was looking after me. He never…never told Zak that we'd been involved, because of fraternization rules."

Kara closed her eyes again. Those feelings, learning that Apollo was dead—they slammed through her body as though it had just happened. "About a year into the mission, we received word Apollo had been killed in action. There was no body, no explanation of the circumstances, just the official notice from the Admiral Board. I was so…lost. No one had known that Apollo and I were involved, certainly not Zak; I couldn't even mourn him that way."

"So you took up with Lee's brother as a consolation." Sam scoffed.

"Gods, Sammy, how you look at me. It's a wonder, if you believe me capable of so much heartlessness, that you would've wanted to rescue me back there." Kara stared him down, trying to keep him from seeing how his words flayed her faltering sense of self.

Sam hung his head, sinking onto the couch. "That was a cruel thing I said; I'm sorry, Kara. This is just a lot to…"

Kara's face softened. "And I'm sorry for _that_, Sam. For how you found out, for the pain it's added."

"But Lee didn't really die; what happened when he came back?" Sam looked miserable as he met her eyes. He wanted the truth; Kara wasn't sure he could bear it.

"Apollo wasn't the same after he returned from Eos. He was on the mission for eighteen months. It was long and dangerous, and he was tortured at one point. He was finally brought home because he nearly died from a bombing accident, the result of a battle. The scars—seen and unseen—it was a struggle for him."

"You stayed with Zak. Why?"

Kara smiled, bitter and melancholy. "Apollo wanted it that way. Or that's what he said, at the time. He didn't consider himself relationship material."

"So you agreed to marry Zak by default," Sam said slowly, uncomfortable parallels coming to the forefront of his mind.

Kara got up quickly, pacing. "No, Sam. That's not right. I loved Zak; I truly did. It was confusing. I'm a screw up, after all. I loved them both."

Sam went to push that point with her, but thought better of it. "Finish the story. I don't understand why you and Lee didn't resume your relationship later."

"Gods, Sammy. Don't expect me to explain_ that_. I can't. The best I could say is that Zak's death changed a lot of things. For both of us. We didn't talk for two years, and likely wouldn't have seen each other again if we hadn't been thrown together by extraordinary circumstances. When we ended up on Galactica, after the end of the worlds, we'd found an equilibrium of sorts. It seemed to be a friendship."

Sam walked the three steps to Kara and placed his hands around her arms. He was breathing fast, looking pale and deeply upset.

What did I mean to you Kara, when you married me? Was I like Zak?"

Kara tried to meet his look with some calmness in her features. "I've loved you, Sam. That's genuine. I didn't risk my ass bringing you back because I felt obligation."

"But the marriage…it was impulsive."

"I usually am, Sammy." Kara offered a weak smile while her heart pounded frantically. Sam was too close to a level of truth she wasn't going to be able to verbalize, too close to finding out that Kara spent the night with Apollo before marrying him. Sam would realize the deceit, regardless of the lack of words, and the damage of that…if she loved him at all, she wouldn't inflict such wounds.

"Weren't you happy, Kara? On New Caprica? I thought—"

"Yes, Sam, I was happy with you." That wasn't a lie; she'd been hiding from a number of things then, but she was content enough to be with him. It had been her choice, after all.

His grip on her arms tightened. "Then help me understand. You didn't reach out to me, you're staying in Lee's quarters…I can't make sense of any of it."

Kara twisted hard, freeing herself. "Sam, a lot of bad things happened to me down there. The Cylon—" she choked on the word—"he played a lot of mind games. Tortured me, drugged me. Changed me. I'm not the person you knew before."

"But Kara, I can help you. I love you, and I promised I'd support you through the best and worst—you have to believe I meant that!" Anders pulled her around to face him.

Kara was close to flying into a fit of anger. Too many emotions were rumbling within and she didn't want to give Sam the meaning to the more essential questions he was asking behind his stated ones.

"Sammy, I know you want to…to be with me, take care of me. And I'm telling you, as plainly as I can, that I'm not fit for anyone to be with. I'm damaged, do get that? Maybe beyond repair. Last night I tried to kill Apollo, thinking he was the Cylon. I'm not going to be in a relationship with anyone. Not now, maybe not ever again." A bone-chilling sensation ran up and down Kara's spine as she uttered those sentences. _I sound just like Apollo did at the cabins. I didn't understand. Not until this moment. No wonder he ran…_

"Kara, I understand you believe what you're saying, but I don't accept that. I want to fight for our marriage, and I—"

"No, Sam. No!" Her voice became much louder. She wanted to start hitting him, smashing him until he couldn't move. The man was going to force her into the final corner and she would hate him for it.

The room fell quiet. Kara wouldn't look any more, but she could hear Sam's sobs. They stood in silence for more than ten minutes. Then Sam broke through the last barrier—just as Kara had feared he would.

"Are you still in love with him, with Lee?"

"Frak you, Sammy. Why do you insist—"

"Frak _you_, Kara. I asked you a question."

"I can't give you an answer."

"You mean you won't."

Kara flew towards him, her anger finally boiling over. "Sammy, in the art of hurting people beyond recovery, I'm much more skilled than you. Ask Apollo. You don't want to take this any further, not today."

"Why the hostility? The walls? If this is over, this thing between us, then I want to know. I want to be sure I understand why. Is it because of that monster Leoben, or because you've never stopped loving Lee Adama?"

He grabbed her roughly and started shaking her, hard. "Tell me, Kara. Say it, Godsdamnit. You frakkin' coward, say it! Say it!"

Fear, anguish, and exhaustion broke the floodgates. Kara began sobbing. "Stop it, Sammy. Stop—"

"No. I'm not gonna stop, Kara. You're not winning. Not this time." He was still shaking her; without warning, he slammed her into the wall. He lifted her away and smashed her into the wall a second time. She was screeching.

"It's both of them. _Both of them_! They haunt my dreams, my waking hours…everything! _Everything_." Kara was crying uncontrollably. Her legs buckled; they both sank to the floor. Sam finally let go of her shoulders.

His voice cracking, Sam whispered, "This is the last door, Kara. Are you…if you tell me, this moment, that we're done, I won't be back. I won't be like Lee, carrying some frakkin' torch for you. I'm stronger than he is. I can get over you."

"_Then—that's—what—you—should—do_." Kara crawled onto all fours and slowly stood up. He followed suit.

Sam's eyes locked on hers. She moved in and unexpectedly put her arms around him. He cried out sharply as he squeezed her and went kiss her. This time, Kara gave in, but only for a moment. He let go, understanding she wasn't going to respond further.

Shirt wet with tears, Sam moved to the hatch. "I'll…we'll talk again. Not for a while—too hard—but…" he sobbed and tried to finish his thought. "You can still…if you need something, I'll help you." He whispered, as he stepped beyond the threshold. "I love you."

As soon as Sam was in the hall, he slammed into someone. It was Lee, returning to quarters. Unmitigated rage pulsed through him and in a split second Sam had swung his fist, connecting with Lee's jaw and smashing sideways into his nose.

Completely caught off guard, Lee lost his balance, saved from a complete fall by part of the bulkhead as he flailed his arms, instinctively trying to keep from damaging his leg further. Sam stared somewhat uncomprehendingly at Lee's face, watching the blood beginning to gush. He gave him a helpless look and ran down the corridor, leaving Lee slumped along the wall.

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Dazed and in pain, Lee scrambled to get his weight rebalanced over his casted leg. He was leaving bloody handprints everywhere. Getting the door open, he groaned as he saw Kara sitting on her bunk; he'd rather have dealt with his injury alone. _Then again, Sam probably wouldn't have slugged me in the first place if she wasn't already in my quarters…_

Kara sprang up as soon as she caught a look at Apollo. He managed to register the tears on her cheeks, but he was too distracted by the blood running down his own face to manage to ask any questions.

"Gods, Apollo, what the frak happened?" Kara hurried to the small sink and wet a towel. She went to touch his face, but Lee stopped her, grabbing the cloth to handle it himself.

"Nose broken," he managed to sputter, as he held the bunched up towel around the lower half of his features and tilted his head back.

"What? How did—" Kara stopped mid-sentence as she understood exactly who had hit Apollo.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry." Her voice was a rasp; she sank back onto her rack, anguish gripping her face.

Lee couldn't see anything. He was still staring at the ceiling, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Kara, can you grab the first aid kit? It's on the shelf above the desk." He gritted his teeth; talking wasn't very easy at the moment, and he was already getting a bad headache.

Seconds later, with a tug on his arm, Lee looked over to see Kara had the chemical cold packs broken and activated. He kept one hand with the towel over his nose, and took a pack with the other to press across his cheeks. He sighed as the cold started to blot some of the pain.

Kara pulled out the topical numbing agent and gently moved the towel out of the way to spray it up each nostril. Lee coughed and closed his eyes against the sudden hit of the drug; it made him slightly nauseous.

"You're still bleeding," Kara muttered as she held the cloth too, her hand covering Apollo's. She slid her other hand behind his neck to provide support while his head tilted back again.

Holding on, Kara directed Apollo to sit down, easing him into the small couch. She sat next to him, neither one saying anything.

Many minutes passed; Lee wasn't sure how long they stayed there in that configuration. He was a little faint and definitely tired. It finally occurred to him to see if the blood had clotted; gingerly, he sat more upright. Kara kept a hand on his back and took a look.

"Seems to have stopped."

Lee nodded. "I should tape it up, then, before the drug wears off."

Kara went for another wetted towel and carefully began wiping the blood from Apollo's face and neck. He kept his eyes closed; he didn't want to look at her, didn't want to try and figure out what she was thinking or feeling at that moment. He wasn't sure he could deal with anything else in this day, and he just wanted to lie down and sleep, assuming the pain didn't keep him up all night now.

Lee was a little surprised when he felt Kara start to actually tape his nose. He cried out in unexpected shock as she manipulated the tissue, his headache roaring to the next level.

"Apollo…maybe we should go to Sick Bay. I'm not sure if…what if your jaw's fractured?" Her voice was hesitant and full of worry.

"No frakkin' way." Lee wanted to scream the words, but managed to keep his voice under control. He opened his eyes to see Kara looking intensely distraught.

"I'm sorry if I'm…gods, I'm just tired, Kara. Really exhausted. All I could think about for the past two hours was crawling into a real bed, and instead I'm dealing with this."

Kara flinched, and Lee wished he was more alert, able to find better words. Despite his misgivings, Lee didn't want to chase her away when they'd just gotten into these quarters, and he understood she was probably wondering about the wisdom of staying there.

"Aren't you going to ask me about Sam?"

Lee looked at her, surprised. "No. It's not my…my place."

Kara's features were melancholy. "Considering he punched you, I think you might want—"

Both of them jumped straight up as the door slammed open and Helo rushed into the room with two Marines, guns drawn.

"Lee, Kara, are you alright? Who attacked you?" Helo was quickly at Lee's side, scanning for injuries.

"I'm okay. What the frak led you break in here?" Lee was still trying to get his heart to settle back to a normal rhythm.

"We saw the blood on the wall and door, and assumed the worst," Helo said quickly.

Lee nodded, immediately wishing he hadn't moved his head. "It wasn't an attack, just a broken nose."

Helo looked to Kara, hoping for a better explanation.

"I think…Sam was here…he left upset and—"

"Karl, don't do anything. He's been through enough." Lee looked at his friend. "This arrangement isn't…I can't blame him for being angry." Another surge of pain swept through Lee's head, and he abruptly sat down.

"You need to see Cottle, Lee," Helo said with concern.

"No. Just frakkin' no! Gods, I want to sleep in my own quarters, left in peace!"

"He's down the hall, and I'm getting him over here," Karl spoke with emphasis, signaling to one of the Marines to go and find the doctor.

Half an hour later, bandaged and pleasantly buzzed on a decent shot of morpha, Lee sighed as Cottle and Helo finally left. They'd helped him change into sweats and get situated in the bed, only leaving after Kara promised to keep an eye on Apollo's breathing and find Cottle if his headache got any worse.

Lee was drifting off to sleep, only vaguely aware of the sounds of Kara's movements as she got ready to climb into her own rack. He was startled awake by the sensation of someone sitting on the bed, and turned his head to find Kara leaning over. The room was dark, but her eyes seemed to find his even in the blackness.

"Making sure you were breathing, Apollo," she whispered.

Inhibitions lowered by the meds in his system, Lee lifted his arm to touch her face. "Glad it's you," he mumbled, smiling. "Don't be 'fraid to come here…if bad dreams…miss holding you," he exhaled. "An' I wouldn't expect 'nything. Kay? Too important to…mess up."

"Okay," Kara said, her voice straining.

Lee slipped into dozing again, unaware of Kara's movements as she eased herself down onto the double bed next to him. She lay there, not touching him but staying close enough she could watch the rise and fall of his chest throughout the night.

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**Sit Rep: Senior Officers Quarters Section, end of Day Sixteen, Operation Restoration**

Bill Adama poured himself a glass of ambrosia. He wasn't sure how they survived, but somehow three bottles of the good stuff—original, premium brand—were ensconced in the cabinet. One had been opened and was nearly empty, but the other two remained pristine.

Handing a glass to Laura, they both sat in reflection for a few minutes, savoring the flavor and the value of enjoying something from life before the end of the worlds. Bill lightly rubbed Laura's feet, enjoying the look of relaxation on her face. He didn't want to break the mood, but they would have company soon, and he needed to make her aware.

"Listen, Tigh's coming by in a little while. I'd like you be a part of the conversation—he's going to fill me in on some of the events that took place while we were on New Caprica."

Laura nodded, though her face scrunched up in disappointment. "I know you've been waiting for the opportunity. I appreciate the chance to hear the details myself."

Bill cleared his throat, looking pensive. "I've been reading the Commander's logs, and I have to say, they definitely had to think outside the box to put the rescue together."

"Why does that seem to upset you?" Laura pressed, wondering at his expression.

"If I understand the reports, it seems the Colonial military went ahead with projects I'd thought were terminated."

"Bill, that can't be material now…"

"But it is. Lee used a weapon…it won us our freedom, but it also meant—some of the Galactica crew died a horrible death."

"I'm confident Lee weighed the consequences…"

"So am I. It's just sobering."

Laura sighed plaintively. "Isn't everything?"

Bill looked over at her. "I finished reading his report covering the rescue operation itself. There's something even more disturbing there, according to Lee's account. It appears the humanoid Cylons were hiding among us for much longer than we knew."

Sitting up straighter and putting her glasses on, Laura waited for Bill to elaborate.

"On Lee's first assignment a number of years ago, he fought the terrorist Aias Group. At one point, he was captured and tortured by them."

"I remember you mentioning that; for a time, everyone believed he'd been killed."

"Right. According to Lee, when he was on New Caprica at the end of the rescue operation, he saw the man who'd tortured him those years before, only then understanding it was a Cylon model. Based on the description, I think it's the one we know as Simon."

Laura was shocked. "The Aias was a front for the Cylons? What could they have been—"

"They wanted to slow down our military building. That was the ostensible purpose of the Aias Group, after all—arguing that the military shouldn't have too much power and attempting to prevent the development of new weapons technology."

Something occurred to Roslin. "The weapon you mentioned before—was that linked to the Aias activities?"

"Yes. Lee was protecting the development of the prototype back then; he had to ensure the terrorists didn't get their hands on it. Ironically, it's the same weapon he deployed a few weeks ago to gain the advantage against the Cylons."

"This weapon—you said you didn't know it had continued under development. How could Lee have used it?"

"The Pegasus had the weapon installed, but it was top secret—according to Lee's logs, it doesn't seem that even Cain was aware it was on board. If Lee hadn't already been familiar with the design, he wouldn't have discovered the equipment—no one would have."

A sound at the hatch alerted them to Tigh's arrival, interrupting the conversation. After a round of general greetings, Tigh made himself comfortable on one couch, with Bill and Laura taking up places on the other. Each grabbed a mug of coffee, and Bill launched into his questions.

Tigh kept them riveted for the next four hours. He decided to cover everything—how Dee came to the Galactica, the way Lee and Kat discovered the EMP weapon, what caused the Galactica to explode. He even went into the eerie experience when Lee gave his speech to the fleet shortly after the first signal from New Caprica had been received, and shared that they were currently jumping along coordinates based on the information from that "revelation" moment.

Throughout the conversation, Tigh's reluctant admiration for Lee was obvious. At moments, Bill wondered if he was talking to the same XO he remembered, the man who'd have appreciated an opportunity to take a good shot at Lee's "pretty jaw," as Tigh used to say. Although Bill had always chided Saul for his animosity towards his son, he'd also tolerated it, to some degree, because he knew the real reason for Saul's sniping, and it had to do with allegiance and a twinge of jealousy.

But all of that seemed to have washed over Tigh now; he was _committed_ to Lee. It was more than someone having grown accustomed to taking orders under that person's command; it was true loyalty. For yet another time, Bill swallowed his own twinges of jealousy. He was going to have to get past it, this envy over his son's talents—surely William Adama had enough sense of his own worth to be the proud father instead of the competitive rival. Questions pounded incessantly as he tracked Tigh's comments: _How did that Cylon manage to frak me up this way? Why don't I recognize myself? Where did my own confidence go?_

Laura nudged Bill gently, getting him to turn towards her. She was analyzing his expressions. Tigh, sensing a strange lull in the focus of the conversation, excused himself to go to the head.

"What's going on in that noisy mind of yours, Bill? Personally, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, myself," she said as she smiled somewhat wearily.

"Mmm. The same." Laura continued watching him.

"When we've had a chance to sleep on all of this, I think we should discuss Lee's future again."

Bill refused to meet her eyes, instead staring straight ahead as he took his third shot of Ambrosia for the evening. "At some point. But it won't be soon. I'm not…comfortable with where you want to take that conversation."

Roslin looked down at the floor, nodding. "I know. And dealing with the New Capricans is the bigger issue right now. But the two elements are linked, Bill—Lee and the future of the fleet. And I can't help feeling that—"

"Gods, woman, don't tell me this relates to some religious intuition—I've had enough of that crap for one evening!"

Laura stood up. "Don't talk to me that way, William Adama. I can tell something's eating at you, but I'm not the one—"

Tigh walked back into the room. "Maybe I should head back to my own quarters now," he said rather quickly. "Ellen's waiting for me, and I haven't been able to spend time with her. Doc's planning on her surgery in a couple days." He didn't wait for acknowledgement. "We can pick up the rest of the history lesson later," Tigh offered as he reached the door. Bill's only response was a short nod as the hatch opened and he left.

"Laura, I shouldn't have barked like that," Bill rushed to explain as soon as they were alone. He stood up to wrap his arms around her. "Sometimes…" his voice trembled lightly. "I don't know how it happened, how Leoben managed to get under my skin. I'm not used to…" he shook his head. "Nothing seems familiar right now. I keep thinking I'll get my bearings, but another day goes by, and another, and I can't escape the sensation that I'm a ghost. I walk by people, watch them interact, hear about what's going on, and yet I'm not a part of it. Observing events, not acting in them. Even my XO…" Bill dropped his forehead lightly to Laura's.

"…Comes across as though he's reporting to another person," she finished gently.

This time, Bill looked directly into her eyes. "Yes." _I should have known she'd work it out..._

Reaching to caress his cheeks, Laura smiled. "I realize how worn and tired it sounds, but it really is going to take time, Bill. I wish—whenever I'd imagined our rescue, it never ended with a fleet split apart by diverging experiences. I thought we'd have more of a chance to heal, to absorb and grieve and figure out how to move ahead." Her voice was filled with regret and disbelief. "But we'll find a way to navigate the course. Stay with the currents."

He pulled her into a hug, letting his nose rub against her hair. "At least I'm not a ghost to you."

Laura gripped him fiercely. "You are the most real part of my day. All my days."

Bill pulled away, clasping her hand to lead her to the bedroom enclosure.

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**Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, end of Day Sixteen, Operation Restoration**

It had taken quite a bit of orchestration to smuggle the equipment in to Boomer and figure out a way to keep the guards from seeing what was going on. Galen had violated a dozen security protocols already, and he'd likely end up in the brig himself under suspicion of collaborating with the enemy if anyone figured out what he'd done. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why he was taking such big risks, and he could only feel shame for his weakness. All the same, he felt a strange rush of elation when he thought back to the kiss he'd shared with Boomer a few days ago. She'd responded with the same urgency, and that fact both energized and paralyzed him by turn.

He hadn't seen her in nearly three days, and he hoped she would realize that it required planning to enact this little strategy. Galen had to wonder what reception he'd get when he finally arrived.

Trying to remember what his lungs were for, he rounded the corner to Boomer's cell. She immediately stood up when she spied him coming towards her, offering a small smile. He sped up his steps. Once the door was open, Galen set the equipment and bags down and pulled Boomer into an embrace.

"I was beginning to worry," Sharon said, her voice heavy. "I thought you'd changed your mind, or that you just…just didn't want to come."

Galen's heart clinched. "I had to find a way to get us off the cameras; it took a while." He kissed her ear. "I _wanted_ to be here." His voice was soft and low; everything seemed very quiet.

Dropping back, Tyrol sat on the cot and pulled the bags over. "I'm assuming you'll, um, plug in the same way Sha—Athena did, so I brought some basic medical supplies. I also brought you a couple long-sleeved shirts—you'll have to keep the bandage hidden."

"Good point," Boomer replied as she sat next to him, her face serious. "You saw the other Sharon do this?"

"She jacked into the mainframe on Galactica to wipe out a Cylon-activated virus; the cut was made above the wrist for the coaxial cable."

"I'll be managing the same way." Boomer dragged the amplifier and receiver by her feet. "Did you alert Caprica?"

"Yeah; I saw her briefly on my way here. Thankfully, Baltar's out in his lab, so I wasn't spotted by anyone."

"How is she? Did you get to talk to her at all?"

Galen was struck by the loneliness that washed across Boomer's face; she missed the other Cylon. _Strange, to think of Cylons as friends of one another… _

"She said she's alright—no one's harmed her and her arm is healing up from the crash on New Caprica. She's been very concerned about you and she's going crazy being so cut off from anything to do or anyone to talk to."

Sharon just nodded her head. Galen offered, "if this works, maybe we'll be able to improve the conditions for both of you. Gods know, if Baltar is being allowed to do things, then…"

"We'll see. At the end of the day, he's still a human, still seen as a part of all of you." Boomer's voice was tense with frustration.

"Look, we need to get started. I couldn't do anything about Caprica's camera feed, so she's going to pretend she's resting and try to manage her facial expressions. I've fixed the feed in here on a loop, but it only lasts forty-four minutes; there's an automatic recording reset at forty-five minutes, so I have to be out of here before then."

"How long ago did it start?"

"We've got thirty-eight minutes left."

Opening up the bag, Galen pulled out the cable, a knife, and a med kit. Grabbing Boomer's hand, he shuddered as he felt the emotion arc between them. Without looking at her face, Galen swiped her inner forearm with alcohol and pulled out a syringe.

"Wait, Galen, what's that? It can't interfere with the transmissions."

He had to look up then, and felt himself being pulled into the depth of her gaze. It was getting harder to concentrate. "It's…um, it's…a local anesthetic. When Athena plugged in, it seemed painful—I thought this might help." Galen swallowed hard, unable to stop staring at her.

"No, that's good. That won't be a problem—thanks for thinking of it." She wasn't breaking the eye contact either.

With strain, Galen looked back down at Boomer's arm and completed the injection. He swabbed the knife with alcohol too and handed that to her. She waited a minute for the anesthetic to take effect, then expertly plunged the knife in and made a two-inch incision. Nodding to Galen to start, she worked one end of the cable into her arm while he completed the connections with the equipment.

"I'll need you to stay silent while I do this. As I pick up information from Caprica, I'll repeat it out loud…it may take two of us to figure out the exact meaning of the words. They'll only come as fragments, not necessarily in sequence."

Galen pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen to keep track of Boomer's utterances.

After a long spell of tense waiting, Sharon began saying things. Her face twisted as she tried to make out the faint transmissions from Caprica, eyes shut and head tilted forward. Tyrol wrote down every syllable or word he could put together.

Seven minutes passed. It felt much longer, but Galen had been tracking it on his stopwatch. They had thirty minutes remaining before the camera feed in the cell would pick up new images.

Suddenly, Sharon slumped over; Tyrol grabbed her in concern. She leaned against him momentarily. "I'm okay, just a little dizzy." She pulled out the cable, dropping it to the floor. Galen held a cloth to the wound with one hand as he fumbled with the contents of the med kit opened on the cot. He found a butterfly seal to place over the incision and then he positioned a larger gauze rectangle, taping it quickly and administering a second injection to numb the arm for a while longer.

"Hopefully that'll be enough for you to stay comfortable," he whispered.

"So let's take a look at what I picked up—I know we're running out of time," Sharon said, still obviously slightly disoriented.

"Twenty-nine and counting," Galen acknowledged.

Boomer scanned Tyrol's notes, nodding in remembrance. "Caprica's on board with building the FTL enhancer. And she came up with something else we can offer. A way track Cylon ship signals in hyperspace."

Galen looked at her, perplexed. "But the jump period's too fast—we couldn't program new coordinates mid-jump—"

"You set up an automatic cascade. When a Cylon signal's detected within a one hundred eighty-light-year target area—raider or basestar—the ship moves to the next pre-programmed coordinates. As long as you're still in hyperspace, it doesn't matter yet where you planned to come out. With the enhancer, the jumps are longer—it's enough time, within the safety margins."

"Are you sure we could retrofit all of the ships in the fleet with this technology?"

"Yes—but the Pegasus has to sync them. No more staggered jumps, based on spooling times…all the ships have to go together, so they can be certain to end up in hyperspace simultaneously. The auto-shift in the coordinates has to be spiked off Pegasus' system."

He whistled lightly. "Damn. Is there any way this technology could detect signals that far out when in normal space? If we had a way to leave before they detected us, and a way to keep from jumping near their vessels—we might get a clean shot to Earth."

"I can't say, Chief. It's possible." Boomer was deep in thought.

Putting his hand on her knee, Galen smiled. "It's enough, Sharon—_it's enough_. I'll get this in front of Helo first; if he'll help me win Lee over, I'm confident I can get the Old Man's sign-off. This is—it's big. It might even change things within the fleet right now."

Boomer could see the excitement building within Tyrol, the surge of hope. "Gods, Galen, I'd forgotten how..."

He looked in her eyes. "What?"

"The way your whole body radiates that infectious energy when you're happy about something. It's been a long time since I was able to…see you this way." Her face became earnest.

"Yeah, well, it's been a while since anyone did." Galen was getting swept up in the emotion communicated through her gaze. He felt the pull of her, so deep, from a place in his soul he hadn't allowed to see the light of day since she'd been shot and left him.

"Sharon," he mouthed, his voice too taut to work properly. He was losing his footing; if he didn't move, he might just give into his hunger. Galen abruptly stood up, turning his head to break the spell. "Twenty minutes left. I need to pack up and get out of here."

Boomer helped Tyrol rapidly put everything back into the bag and prepare the equipment for transport. She walked with him the few steps to the door of the cell, handing him everything he'd brought in.

"I'll talk to Karl tomorrow. It might be better if I didn't come down here for few days; I'll find a way to get you a message though."

"Be safe." Galen could see the sorrow on her face as she said it. He had the sense Sharon wanted to convey something else, but she held back.

"Yeah. You too." Turning around, he grabbed the door. He needed to go, to step through and make his escape. _Just keep going, Galen_, he told himself silently.

Without warning, his gut uncoiled. Feelings flooded him; Galen managed to set the items he'd been carrying onto the floor before instinct overwhelmed conscious thought.

Galen grabbed Boomer's hand and twisted her body into the cell bars as he swept her into his arms. He was of a singular purpose, driven to fill up the spaces of loss in his heart. Their lips met with roughness; he was feverish.

Galen's hands were immediately under her shirt, feeling her breasts, remembering the way she responded to his touch. He felt her hands tugging at his pants and moaned at the stroke of her fingers along his length, his clothes pushed past his hips. He slid his hands along her backside, enjoying the feeling of her ass in his palms. Boomer began suckling his neck, her teeth nipping as he pressed her further into the bars.

Yanking her sweats down, his fingers insistently slipped between her legs. He growled as the scent hit him, his hand slick with her. "So wet," he hissed as she attacked his ear with her tongue, and he shuddered, his body wanting one thing, no matter the cost.

She pulled his cock down at a sharp angle, fully aware the sensation would take him past his limits of control; he moaned wildly as he positioned himself, lifting her as he thrust hard. They were both trembling, the metal making scraping sounds as he started moving with her, frantic and brutal with each drive. She put her arms above her head, grabbing the bars for leverage, whimpering. They came nearly together, breathless and dazed, bruised from the way their bodies had assaulted each other. Galen's legs caved; they collapsed, clinging tightly, shuddering.

He moved to hold her face, his large palms covering all of her cheeks. Their eyes locked. Kissing her tenderly, his heart ached as her whole form folded into his.

Abruptly Galen pulled away, suddenly realizing the clock was still counting down. He couldn't be seen on camera.

"Go…go," Boomer urged, immediately understanding the danger.

"Sharon, I…gods, you have to know—"

"I do, my love, I do. I know your heart; I always did."

Galen scrambled, barely managing to dress and get the equipment out before the camera feed rebooted. He struggled to walk normally as he slipped down the back hall, hiding momentarily behind an open door to time his walk past the main guard station and avoid detection.

As soon as he made it out of the brig area, Tyrol let everything clatter to the ground, leaning heavily against the wall as he fought to regain emotional and physical control. He couldn't accept what had just happened. Worse, the only thing running through his mind was how he'd make it back there to take her again. He wasn't sure how he'd find his way towards sanity.

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**Sit Rep: Senior Officer's Quarters, Dr. Linda Martin, Day Seventeen**

"Welcome, Kara. Please have a seat." Dr. Martin gestured to a large stuffed armchair across from her; vaguely, Kara wondered how she'd managed to get her hands on such a strange luxury.

Moments later, a bemused look on her face, the doctor observed, "You know, I think I'd call that perching more than sitting. I realize this is uncomfortable, but at least give your back a rest."

Kara let out a deep breath and slid backwards until her head was touching the chair cushion. She wouldn't have admitted it, but it did feel good, all that support pressed against her body.

Dr. Martin sat with Kara silently for a few minutes, reading her body language. She'd learned some things about this patient before her arrival, and knew it was going to be important to establish trust through small steps.

"Kara, I'd like to ask you a few things. Are you willing to play along, at least for a couple of questions?"

"Yeah, okay." Kara fidgeted, rolling her lower lip between her teeth rapidly.

"Well first, I'd like to be up front with you. Dr. Cottle's shared some information with me about your captivity on New Caprica, at least what little he knows.

"Normally, I'd prefer not to learn things from others; I'd rather hear it from you. However, given the larger circumstances—with the fleet, with the importance of your role, with your significance to others in important roles—I'm going to have to accept some shortcuts may be necessary.

"What this means is I may ask you some questions about events or people you haven't talked to me about before. If I have the facts wrong, or you're not ready to tackle a topic yet, you need to let me know. Will you agree to do that?"

Kara eyed her warily. "Look, you can ask me whatever you want. That doesn't mean I'll say much in response."

Dr. Martin laughed softly. "I've worked with viper pilots before—they don't tend to be much into soul-baring. They are, however, pretty goal-oriented—they want to get back to flying. Is that part of the reason you're here, Kara?"

"What kind of a question is that? Why else would I come?" Kara raised her eyebrows in disdain.

"Well, sometimes people's motivations change. I'm not going to assume things, or I wouldn't be very good at my job."

A strained atmosphere settled in the room.

"It might be helpful if I share some guidelines with you on how this works. My role is to help you get back to active duty status. I'm invested in making you whole again, to the point you can function effectively in your position. This _isn't_ meant to be a history lesson, where you have to relive all the painful events in your life; in our work together, we're focusing on the present, the here and now.

"Now, if you want to share more about your past, I'll always be there to walk through it with you. I'm only going to ask questions, though, about those events that seem linked to your ability to move forward."

"That makes things simpler," Kara said tartly, grateful she wasn't being forced to have heart-to-hearts about her childhood or her mother issues.

"I know that coming to see me isn't your idea, and I'm not interested in watching you squirm. We won't always have to talk; sometimes I may ask you to paint or draw something instead. I could ask you to keep a personal journal; I wouldn't read it, I'd just ask you to share what stood out to you."

Nodding, Kara masked her surprise; what Dr. Martin was describing didn't match any stories she'd heard about therapy in the past.

"I'm going to revisit the question I asked you earlier, Kara. I'd like you to tell me two goals you have for your near future—one related to your role in the military and one related to your personal/private life. Are you willing to talk about that?"

Dr. Martin seemed sincere in her question, but Kara was beginning to get irritated that the shrink kept asking for her permission or agreement. It wasn't like Kara believed she could say no; if she didn't go along with these sessions, she wouldn't be cleared for flying. That was coercion, no matter how nicely the person couched it.

"Okay. Sure. My professional goal is to get back in a cockpit; I've missed flying too much. It's been more than eighteen months since I piloted a viper, and I need to get back in the air."

Kara stopped there; she really wasn't ready to talk about her personal wants. They didn't matter, because they were too out of reach.

"I notice you didn't volunteer the second goal yet. What do desire personally, Kara?"

Kara rolled her lower lip between her teeth again; she could taste blood from the pressure on the sensitive inner tissue.

"I lost…" She shook her head.

"It can be hard to put it out there, Kara. Saying something out loud is powerful. And that's why it's important to do it, to be clear about what you're going after."

"What if I don't have _the right_ to it? What if it's wrong to _want _it?"

Dr. Martin paused a beat before responding. "Are we talking about a thing or a person, Kara?"

"A person." Kara's head was tilted downward, studying her hands in her lap.

"Someone you've been close to in the past…"

"Yeah."

"You still haven't putthis into words, your personal goal—give it a try." Dr. Martin gave a small smile.

Kara stared back, weighing her options. She didn't want to do this—have to talk. She was a doer—she did things. Talking was just frustrating. But deep down, Kara realized she was pretty frakked up emotionally—worse than she'd ever been. She wasn't fit to fly, and her thoughts—it was frightening to remember what she'd admitted to Sam. No one could fight Cylons when the demons within were louder and draining every last ounce of energy and concentration.

Fists clenched, eyes tightly shut, she let the words out slowly. "I'm still…in love…with Apollo. And I don't…I'm not…I hurt him. Gods, how I hurt him." Kara let the sensation of wanting to cry burn in the back of her throat; she wasn't about to increase her emotional exposure right now.

"Kara, please open your eyes."

She did; something about the compassion in the other woman's face increased the fire in her throat, and Kara immediately looked away.

Dr. Martin repositioned herself to meet Kara's gaze. "Okay. That's about how you feel and how you interpret the past. What do you _want_ now, Kara?"

Blinking hard, sobs rumbling in her chest, she shook her head. The words were so burdened. She tried to move her tongue, put her lips together, but Kara felt paralyzed. After so many months where her needs didn't matter, where there was little control over her fate, the simple idea she could put forth something she deeply wanted—it was overwhelming. Because saying would increase the wanting, and the potential for devastation. Kara wasn't sure she could handle more anguish.

_But you're anguished now_, her mind admonished, and the sobs came faster. Her thoughts flashed to the image of Apollo from the previous night, the way he'd touched her face and tried to let her know he was there for her. _Miss holding you_, he'd said. _Too important to mess up_.

"I _want_ to be with Apollo." Memories…the morning he left for the Eos, the night he was medevac'ed to Caprica, the afternoon she read his letters, the moment she saw him safe on Galactica after the start of the Second Cylon War, the look on his face when she returned with the Arrow of Apollo, the way he smiled at her last night. "I want to _be_ with him."

"Good work, Kara." Dr. Martin spoke quietly. "That was a big step, naming what you want for yourself. And we're going to take more steps together. Because you know where you're heading."

Kara studied the doctor's face, trying to sort out what had just happened. She felt better, somehow. It didn't make sense; words were just words. Things only happened with action. All the same, she was a little more tethered to the world, and suddenly, she was genuinely glad she was going to leave this room and walk back to Apollo's quarters. _Their_ quarters.

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**Sit Rep: Senior Officer's Quarters, The Agathons, End of Day Seventeen**

Helo had just gotten his boots off and managed to hug his wife and child when the door comm went off. "Were we expecting company?" he called to Athena.

"Not that I know of," she said a little worried. Helo opened the hatch and was glad to see Lee standing there.

"Lee! Come in, put a foot up!" Helo laughed.

"That'll be _two_ feet, thank you very much," Lee snorted as he walked inside.

"The brace and cast are off! Damn. That must feel good."

Athena and Hera came towards the two men. "Congrats, Commander—I'm sure that's a relief," Sharon offered, smiling.

Lee went to shake her hand, clasping with both his own. He gave her a big grin. "Good to see you, Athena," he said warmly. Sharon tried to cover her nervousness; she was still trying to adjust to his new attitude towards her and Hera.

"And please call me Lee or Apollo when we're off duty, 'cause I hope you'll consider me a friend of your family." He looked expectantly at Karl.

"I won't intrude long, just wanted to talk to Helo a minute, if that's possible…"

"Of course it is," Karl said as he stepped towards the hatch. "Let's go stretch those legs of yours."

The two men strolled down the long hallway. "How's the nose?"

"Umm. I've had worse. Losing the brace makes up for it."

"But I bet you didn't come to talk about recovering from war wounds," Helo said sympathetically.

"Nope. Honestly, I just wanted…with everything that's gone on, there hasn't been time to talk one on one. I've wondered how you're doing, and I've never had a chance to thank you properly for how you managed the last leg of the rescue operations."

Helo slapped his friend lightly on the back. "Well, other than the fleet going all to hell, I'm doing great. We're all…_I _have _a family_, Lee. It's a frakkin' miracle, and I'm just in awe."

They stopped and leaned against the bulkhead. "I'm happy for you, Karl—you deserve all of it."

"Hera's struggling a bit with adjusting…it's quite a change from how she'd been living on New Caprica. Somehow, though, she's accepted us as her parents now…she's already calling Sharon 'Mommy.' We let her spend time with Maya too…I think that's made a difference in her comfort level."

"I'm sorry about what happened to…what Roslin put you two through." Lee's voice hinted his anger.

"Yeah, I'm still controlling the urge to throttle her every time I get near the woman."

"I know what you mean," Lee said, laughing sardonically.

Helo had been anxious to talk to Lee about Laura's ideas, because he actually agreed with her, despite his distaste for the messenger. Karl could sense, however, it wasn't time to broach that subject yet.

"And what about the one staying in your quarters…ready to throttle her yet?" Helo raised an eyebrow for emphasis as he posed the question.

"Uh-Uh. Not yet. But we haven't exactly spent quality time together." Lee's tone was rueful.

"I haven't seen Sam today, but according to the Chief, whatever those two talked about, I don't think he was happy with the outcome," Karl offered.

Lee laughed caustically. "I could have told you that—he didn't break my nose over good news."

"You have a point…" Karl gestured they should start walking again. "Lee, how is Kara, really? I've been so worried about her." His voice was low and pained.

"Giving her the sim machines to work on helped, Karl—I know she's grateful to have something meaningful to keep her busy, keep her mind off…other things."

"Has she been to see Doc Martin yet?"

"Today. Though, knowing Kara, I'm not sure 'therapy' is going to accomplish much."

"I have faith in her, Lee, and I know you do too. If she managed to survive this far, we can all help her pull through."

Apollo stopped in place. "Need to rest the leg a minute."

They took up their positions against the wall again. "Karl, do you still think…the prophecy, I mean, is that still something—" Lee wasn't sure how to put his thoughts into something coherent.

Helo looked sideways, catching his friend's stare. "Yes, I think about it, and yes, I'm confident you're the one to lead us to Earth. But there are some pieces to put together…other people who received prophecies too."

Lee's eyes widened, his heart quickening. "Did Laura say something to you?"

Helo was puzzled. "No, Sharon told me. Something that happened between her, Roslin, and Hera—a shared dream. They wrote out the words from the vision; my wife tells me part of the prophecy has already come to pass, while other parts are still undecipherable."

"Like the flashes I had…" Lee was lost in thought.

"I think maybe it's a primer of sorts. Your encounters with the Priestess, our experience together, the words about the Eye of Jupiter, this dream of Sharon's…we have to match up the images and the codes."

"Gods, sometimes I don't…how do I navigate this now, Karl, with my father back and my command gone? If we figure out a 'message,' what makes us think William Adama will go along? He doesn't accept anything mystical. And I don't have a leadership position any more, the way things are assigned now—he has no mandate to listen to me."

"What if…what if Roslin's on the right track?"

Shaking his head, Lee pushed from the wall and started walking fast, even though he was wincing in pain. "That presidency stuff—is that what you mean? No. I can't accept that. I won't do that."

Grabbing his arm, Karl spun Lee around. "Look, I know you want to fly again. But if that isn't your identity any more—"

Lee shrugged away from Helo and turned to head back to quarters. "Don't say that. Just frakkin' don't."

"Whoa, okay, but stop moving long enough to talk, will ya?" Karl pulled on Lee's arm another time. "I didn't mean to piss you off. I'm behind you no matter what you do—you know that. Forget about what she said, and focus on what we need to do about the prophecies—at least see if there're any patterns, any clues that might trigger something internally."

With a loud exhale, Lee nodded. "Yeah. Alright. I'll do that much." He looked into his friend's eyes, clearly still torn about something.

"Go ahead, Apollo—you know you can trust me," Karl encouraged.

"There was another time I saw the Priestess."

Helo was surprised. He waited patiently for Lee to explain more.

"Frak, this sounds so crazy. And if I hadn't talked to Laura, I'd swear it was so much noise in my brain, but…"

Running his hand through his hair, Karl's eyes narrowed as he made the connection. "A shared vision—she had a shared vision with you, just like she did with Sharon on New Caprica."

"I was in a coma—"

"And she coded. I was there with your father when it happened." Helo whistled lightly.

"I'll have to describe the whole thing at another time, because it would take too long now, but the thing that has me spooked—" Lee closed his eyes at the memory.

"We were together, in front of Pythia. And the woman made Roslin promise 'fealty' to me, saying, quote, '_It is he who has the whole in view and he who carries the burden. From this point forward, he leads. You support._'"

"Roslin agreed?"

"She _complied_. And a few weeks later, Roslin's saying she won't run for the presidency again and is pushing me for the role."

Karl stood with his hands on his hips, concentrating. "What you've told me doesn't negate her suggestion, Lee—if anything, it strengthens the value of it."

"Or she's gone off on a tangent that doesn't have anything to do with my life, my function."

"Lee, is it possible you're just not open to it, that you're reacting vehemently because you know in your gut that she's right on target?"

Apollo gave Karl a cold stare. "You of all people know Laura can be way off base with her 'interpretations.' "

Rubbing his face in exasperation, Karl gave a drawn-out sigh. "According to Tyrol, she's also been eerily accurate. About a lot of things…too many things. At least, too many to dismiss out of turn what she's saying now."

Shaking his head vigorously, Lee crossed his arms and looked off in the distance. "I can't…I simply can't go there, Karl," he whispered, obviously unnerved.

His friend came close and lightly gripped his shoulders. "If someone told me I had 'the whole in view' and 'carry the burden,' I might react the same way. Not exactly an appealing description of someone's future."

"No, it isn't," Lee said with remorse.

"I wouldn't…I know this is hanging heavy over you. That's why you had to get it off your chest, tell someone. For now, I'd counsel you, as your friend, to let things play out. Listen to the information from the other prophecies, and see what comes of it. Trust yourself, Lee—as I do. As many of us do."

Smiling a little, Lee gave Helo a brief hug. "I appreciate the sounding board and the vote of confidence…I've been missing our conversations."

Karl smiled back. "So have I. Look, tell Kara I'll help her install the sims back in the training rooms tomorrow; she can keep the laptop to work on the scenarios over the next two weeks."

"I'll be happy to—I know that'll make her day." Secretly, Lee wondered if he'd even see her to have the chance to share the news; he was still anxious and wound tight, thinking he'd go back there only to find out she'd left without a word. It was the reason he'd stopped by Helo's quarters first; he didn't want to feel the pain of that absence. As Lee watched his friend enter his room, greeted by his family, his heart contracted. He walked slowly to his own quarters, fear in his veins.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Main Guard—Cylon Basestar, Adjacent to Resurrection Hub, Three Weeks After the End of New Caprica**

D'Anna sat on the couch in her quarters, stunned. She didn't know what to think, or how to describe what she was feeling. And she had deep _feelings_ about this…this news. Her mind was whirring at breakneck speed, but the thoughts were all fragments—incomplete and certainly below the standards of a Cylon.

There wouldn't be much time to keep the information from spreading. D'Anna would have to explain the situation to the Cylon Council, meeting in just a few minutes. This knowledge would change things. _So many things_.

She found herself wondering about Gaius, something that was becoming a bit of an obsession. D'Anna despised the sensation—compulsiveness was an unattractive quality, and it was damaging, as the particular one of the Leoben model had so amply demonstrated. It was difficult to deny, though, that her emotions were intense where Gaius was concerned. _Love_. That's what the humans would use to describe it. Something she'd believed in, as an abstract construct, but hadn't necessarily bargained that she'd be experiencing.

Bending her head, D'Anna began saying a prayer to God. It had been some time since she'd bee_n_ inspired to talk with him in any profound way; she'd seen no need. She hadn't had any needs. But there was no denying the list developing in her head now:Need protection. Need a strategy. Need the right words. Need insight. Need Gaius. _Please, God, help me find a way to get Gaius back._

As the anxiety spread through her gut, D'Anna sank to her knees to plead in earnest. She lost track of time until the comm startled her out of the trance.

Cavil's voice came through, petulant. _ "We're waiting on you. Were you planning on attending, or should we take this as an indication of your priorities?"_

D'Anna ground her teeth together, distinctly aware it was mimicry of human behavior she was displaying involuntarily. _How insidiously they affect us…_

"I'm on my way now. Surely there's still time for prayer, or should I take your impatience as an indication God isn't one of _your_ priorities?"

"_Just get here." _The comm went silent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When D'Anna swept into the room, she was surprised by the tension hitting her as she entered. Something had happened; she was sure they didn't know_ her _news yet, which meant unfolding events were becoming complicated at the worst time.

"What is it?" she asked simply, moving to her place at the conference table.

"The Four will explain," Cavil replied tersely. "I'm sure he'll enjoy repeating himself for your sole benefit."

Rolling her eyes, D'Anna faced Simon. "Well?"

"As you know, we've been monitoring anomalies in the resurrection process for some time." Simon used the screen on the far wall to display several graphs.

"At first, the issues were contained within the raider population. Since New Caprica, however, the anomalies have been appearing in our Cylon ranks. More significantly, the problem has been progressing with the raiders exponentially."

D'Anna raised her eyebrows. She gestured dismissively. "I don't see the cause for the glum faces—there must be more."

Cavil sneered. "Oh, there's more. It seems our Creator has a perverted sense of humor."

The Six spoke in her normal measured tones. "What the Fours discovered is that there's a serious flaw in the resurrection process. There hadn't been a sufficient number of resurrections to detect the error until…until the loss of so many brothers and sisters on New Caprica."

"I don't understand—they weren't resurrected." D'Anna frowned.

"I'm not talking about the deaths. It's the others, the ones who were terminated abruptly by despicable human tactics and later downloaded into the Hub."

Simon interjected. "The memories have been traumatic. Even after download and re-assimilation, many of the individual models are experiencing disruptions—flawed thinking, emotionally charged episodes, corrupted thought processes leading to errors that are propagating exponentially as a type of virus."

The Five added his understanding. "It isn't just that individual Cylon errors are spreading—the tuning process has amplified the problem a hundred-fold. More of our brothers and sisters are having the same set of symptoms—nightmares, dissociation, emotional mood swings, faulty logic, even acting out against one another. Because the memories have been distributed, the traumas are also spreading, and individual Cylons appear to be responding differently, depending on other factors we have yet to conclusively identify. We think it may also be negatively affecting the Hybrids."

"Which is why I'm convinced we need to finish what we started with the Colonial home worlds and wipe out the humans completely. No more painful 'deaths' for raiders, Cylons, or centurions. Problem solved." Cavil drummed his fingers against the table.

"As I was explaining before Three arrived," Simon said with some frustration directed towards Cavil, "even if we had no further traumatic terminations with reloads, the problem has developed to such a point we currently have no way to reverse or remove the effects."

"Which means what?" Eight asked, her voice tight.

The entire resurrection programming has become corrupted. There isn't a way to prevent newly activated Cylons from becoming infected, and even if we could solve that issue, the resurrected ones wouldn't be able to tune with any existing Cylons. Sharing knowledge in any format—through the basestars, through other software, through Cylon tuning—all paths lead to contagion—traumatic memory, emotional instability, and errors in decision-making."

"Four, you keep referring to this as type of programming virus. Why can't we purge it from our systems?"

"Right now, the only way to do that would be wipe out all of the old programming—every Cylon, centurion, raider, and Hybrid memory. There's no way to eliminate the shared knowledge or its effects. The corrupted bits have made it into every sphere of our existence. We can't reprogram or reboot—there isn't a viable way to remove the mutations."

"Unless we could redirect the nanites," D'Anna said almost to herself.

"What was that?" Cavil muttered contemptuously.

"Nanites. At the molecular level, the nanites are the mechanism protecting us—the Cylons and the raiders—from other types of viruses and mutations. The issue's been that they're locked, so to speak—we can't alter the programming of the nanites themselves. They correct genetic mutations—"

"But not epigenetic ones. And the memories, the experiences—"

"Are like a form of epigenetic mutation." D'Anna was grateful Simon was grasping the connection, finishing her sentence.

"Where are you going with this, Three?" Cavil eyed her with increasing misgiving.

"Baltar's research was focused on how to break the lock on the nanites and re-construct their programming."

Six was alarmed. "You allowed him to work on a project like that? Don't you realize what he could have done, Three, if he'd been successful in his research, the harm he would be able to inflict on all of us? He could have developed a bio-weapon—"

"Six, you _know_ Baltar wasn't the kind of person who'd be interested in that. He wasn't ever involved in using his mind to develop military weapons. Even with his work on the Caprica, he used his work to protect the humans' worlds, not destroy them."

"We're not _of his kind_, Three," Six replied with considerable anger in her tone.

"He lived among us for months without doing anything that could be considered against Cylon interests—"

"Enough! Take your bickering over the merits of that slimy creature to another venue. We have serious concerns to address here and this petty—"

"Cavil, brother, you are, as usual, failing to understand the larger picture. Baltar was reaching a critical point in his research. If he could 'unlock' the nanites, he could begin to work out the programming mechanisms. If we knew how to re-direct the nanites, we could eradicate the epigenetic mutations or introduce new ones and solve our problem literally from 'the inside out.'" D'Anna smiled triumphantly.

"And perhaps unleash a whole new set of unintended consequences, Three!" Six said with pressured loudness.

"What would you have us do, Sister—eliminate the resurrection process? Hope that talk therapy repairs the traumas our people are now carrying around? And for the raiders—what about them? Without resurrection, we jeopardize our own defenses—our raider forces dwindle." D'Anna shook her head at the other Cylon's limited thinking.

Simon addressed the group. "Three's observation is significant, and we should give consideration to the implications. It would take time to learn how to manipulate the nanite technology and still control the process, but it would definitively resolve the current dilemma. We would be able to restore our resurrected brothers and sisters to full functioning and maintain the soundness of our raiders. Frankly, it's the raider population where the conditions are currently the most alarming; I'm becoming concerned we'll begin seeing malfunctions during battles."

"Define 'malfunctions,'" Doral directed.

"Refusing to engage in maneuvers that would lead directly to termination—breaking off attack runs to avoid the resurrection process."

"I don't understand…"

"They're programmed with a basic consciousness, the instinct to survive. That's meant destroying the enemy, with a default process to resurrect when unsuccessful in the primary mission of attack. If the raiders become conditioned to avoid resurrection, based on previous imprinted memories of difficult terminations, they'll still seek survival, but interpret that differently—if destroying the enemy isn't possible, retreating will be a preferable option."

Simon turned from Doral to Cavil. "We can stop the resurrection process for the raiders without informing that population. There are enough of them in operation to provide sufficient defenses for a set period of time. The Cylons with noted problems can be given some treatments to temporarily mute the impacts. If we avoid tuning, it will slow down the spread of the contagion. But we need Baltar to begin working on the nanite solution; these other measures will only delay the inevitable."

Cavil moved to sit down; the others followed his lead. He propped his elbows on the conference table, steepling his fingers together. "What is the need for Baltar to be here? With his research, surely the Simon models, working together, can—"

"We don't have his research." Simon looked down at the table, feeling the irritation radiating from Cavil.

D'Anna smoothly moved to explain, "it was all on his portable computer when we were evacuating from New Caprica. When he was taken, we lost access. That's why it's imperative we stage a tactical operation to get him back from the humans."

"You're assuming he's alive. Given Adama's track record, I'm not sure that optimism is warranted."

"He's still one of their most gifted scientists, Brother. If they allowed the traitor Eight to survive, they wouldn't kill Baltar. He's there, and his research too. We have to rescue him."

Cavil stared at her strangely. "Rescue. How can you be so sure that's how it should be viewed?"

"Because he wants to be with us."

"You mean, with you," Six hissed derisively.

D'Anna felt the hostility climb up her spine. She smiled. It was time to share her news.

"Yes, with me. And his child."

Six's lower lip wavered. "That's not possible."

Doral smiled menacingly. "I thought he was just an experiment, Three. We've already seen how emotional attachments to humans can cloud Cylon thinking—I didn't realize we needed to add you to the list of the fallen."

"Brother Doral, you have mis-spoken. Baltar 'fell'—I didn't. It's the human who has to experience the feeling of love for conception to take place." D'Anna glanced at Six with a smug look. She hoped it would hide the truth; D'Anna would be in danger, and the baby, if the others on the Council thought she was equally "infected" with the virus of intense emotional responses. Despite the Cylons' previous fixation on natural procreation for their species, given the murder of so many Cylons on New Caprica, it was unclear how a hybrid child might be perceived.

"This news certainly adds a new dimension to our discussion," Cavil said slowly. "It suggests there may still be a purpose the humans can fulfill for us—based on the premise we actually think this matter of 'procreation' is part of God's plan for the Cylons—though personally, I'd rather concentrate on solving our resurrection problems and relying on our own process for sustaining our species."

Eight shook her head. "Cavil, your cynical, existential approach could be the reason we face this crisis with the resurrection process. Did that ever occur to you? God may force you to acknowledge the folly of your pursuits. D'Anna's news is the sign from God that He wants us to choose another path. We are not to destroy the humans!"

Cavil's eyes narrowed as he felt the wave of anger sweep through him. Simon, who had been quiet over the recent conversation, chose to speak again. "Eight is right. It confirms that the humans—Baltar specifically—have a role to play. We have more than one reason to bring Baltar with us now; it is God's will to learn from this human."

Distressed and subdued, Six nonetheless nodded her own assent.

Turning to Leoben, Cavil asked, "You've said nothing in this whole discussion, Two. As the most fervent about God's plan for us, what do you have to share?"

Leoben closed his eyes. "Love is God's purpose. D'Anna's child is a miracle. The first opportunity was squandered; we cannot fail to embrace a second chance to witness true creation. Baltar's work may hold the key to unveiling the mystery of our natural procreation—it was the original reason for his research. This is a sign. The path leads to Baltar and proves D'Anna's right—he belongs with us. He is part of us. If we fail Baltar, we fail ourselves and we fail God."

Huffing in resigned disgust, Cavil stood. "Then it's decided. I'll leave it to you, Four and Two, as far as developing the tactical strategy for this 'rescue.'"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Senior Officers' Quarters, End of Day Seventeen**

When Lee stepped into his quarters and saw Kara sitting on the small couch, he couldn't help the grin that came to his cheeks, although the pain radiating from his broken nose immediately reminded him why he'd been limiting his facial expressions most of the day. Her returned smile—a view he'd had precious little of—made the discomfort fade into the background.

It was all Lee could do in the moment not to spring forward and pull her into his arms; he winced at the all-too habitual internal ache. _How many more times will I be tortured with these fetters around my desires?_

Kara continued to beam at him, pointing to his leg. "You're liberated!"

Lee just nodded, wishing he didn't feel conspicuous for the goofy smile he was showing. "I'm still gonna need the other surgery, but I'm able to walk around, at least for a few days."

A strange look of indecision and eagerness seemed to hover on Kara's face; as Lee tried to puzzle out what was going on, he was surprised to see her gesture for him to sit next to her. The minute he sank against the cushion, she threw her arms around him and pressed her body close, holding him tightly. An involuntary sound of pleasure escaped Lee's lips as he let his hands stutter across her back and return the embrace.

He sensed her muscles relax, drawing them completely together. The breath from Kara's small sigh tickled his ear and he squeezed her firmly, letting his mind absorb the sheer comfort.

"Apollo, I'm sorry if I…" Kara shifted to look at his face, her hands lightly resting on his neck. "I know it's hard to figure out what's going on with me." She paused to gently kiss his cheek. "And I'm not ready to talk about what happened on New Caprica yet, but I promise—" Kara held his eyes with hers—"I'll explain more, when I can.

"I want…" Emotion rocked through her. She whispered, "I want to let you in, Apollo. And I want to…I sleep better if I'm next to you. But I'm not ready for…for…"

Lee enveloped her in his arms again, his lips brushing against the hair over her ear. "You don't have to say anything else, Kara. I'm here for you. I'll meet you exactly where you are."

"Thank you." She gripped him firmly, soaking in the strength that seemed to emanate from his warm skin. Her heart was moving faster than her mind could overcome with objections, and more words began tumbling out.

"Forgive me, Apollo, about Sam. Gods, please, if you can ever…forgive me."

Lee cradled the back of her head in his hand, rubbing his face into her soft, blond strands. "The punch wasn't that bad; I probably had it coming."

"No, Apollo. I meant—" the wet drops began slipping from the bridge of her nose. She pulled away to capture his gaze again. "Forgive_ me_. For New Caprica. For leaving you. Gods, the separation, the silence…I barely survived the first cycle, after Zak's death. And this second one, with the hatred I'd earned, it was so heavy, I can't tell you the power of it.

"I haven't been able to breathe since that day, the day I married Sam, the day I broke everything, and I need to breathe, Apollo, I need the air, I need…" She was choking on the sobs now. "I just didn't want to risk being the Medusa, killing you by looking upon you because I'm cursed. I'd already cost you so much. And you deserve more, the best. I didn't know how to be that, be the best person…" Kara's head fell forward, the shame and pain too much.

"Gods, Kara," Lee murmured, overcome. His mouth touched her skin, his hands skimming her arms as he brushed against her forehead, then her nose. He slowly moved his mouth above hers; their eyes caught, and he knew it was alright to kiss her. There was no pressure to it; he feathered a single slide, moving back to her cheek quickly. She looked at him through her soaked lashes, staring at his mouth. He fell to her again, with more focused intent, his heart clenching as their lips met with surety. The blood rushed away from his brain when he heard her soft sounds, and he kissed her deeply, their tongues slowly exploring.

Lee willed himself to stop. She wasn't ready for this, for where it would go next. Her body could respond, but her mind needed time to heal, to be in synch. She'd told him that, and he had to let her know he understood the boundaries, the pacing.

Using his palms to stroke her face, Lee tried to let his eyes communicate what she needed to know. He was still cautious about words; they were so weighted, they might tear the delicate fabric of the bond between them. He smiled, grateful his own emotions were just enough in his control he wasn't crying too; she'd see he was centered—he could keep them both grounded, at least in this. At some point, Kara leaned into him again, and they sank deeper into the couch.

After a long interlude of comfortable quiet, Kara found herself wanting to ask questions. She knew so little about Apollo's life over the past few months…_no, over the past year and a half_, she reminded herself.

"What happened with Dee?" Kara managed to finally get over her tongue. Apollo's muscles stiffened, and she wondered if she'd just made a mistake.

"I ended things. We both wanted other people." His words were supple, but there was a pressure behind them.

Kara angled her head to get a better look at his expressions. "Dualla fell for someone else?" She was astonished to think Dee would seek out other companionship.

"No. I meant she pictured me as a different person; she wanted to believe I was like my father. I don't know Dee ever really saw me clearly, to be honest. Maybe that went for both of us."

"And how did you…are you…"

"Am I upset that it turned out this way?" Lee stared out into the distance. "Not really. I'm not proud of the outcome, that my marriage failed, but we weren't a good…she deserved a chance to find a man who would love her completely. I wasn't ever gonna be that guy."

"Was there—you said you _both_ wanted other people." Kara's throat felt so dry as she tried to figure out how to touch on the other question.

Apollo kissed the top of her head. "The last time we talked about that out loud, you weren't ready, Kara. Do you want me to speak the words now?" His tone was suddenly raspy and uneven.

Kara thought about what he was saying—Apollo was implying she was still the person he wanted to be with. Waves of grief hit her, though, as she remembered the sheer hostility Apollo had projected for more than a year. "But _you_ _hated_ _me_," Kara responded, shivering.

"Yes," Lee whispered, "yes, I did." He clasped her more closely. "Because I was cut off, shut out, with no recourse. But that was in the past. You know that, right?" He shifted his body, moving Kara beneath him, until he was directly over her. She could see his arms trembling as he propped himself up.

"I'm not going to pretend anymore. I've been so caught up in you, Kara, ever since…do you know why I followed you home that first time, when you were at the Academy? You assumed it was because I thought you were too drunk to take care of yourself. And that wasn't it. It's because I was besotted. I was obsessed with finding out what it was like to kiss you. I came so close, that _very first night_, to picking you up in my arms and carrying you to your bed to just _take_ you, all regulations be damned.

"I hung back, though. And that's what I kept doing, over and over. Too many times, I let other people get ahead of me, capture your heart because I wouldn't step out and prove I would reach for you with both hands, full out, no reservations. So it shouldn't have surprised me that when I did finally do that—put it all out there—you didn't trust it.

"I had to get to the point I could admit I'd been shut out because I'd let the opportunities pass by. It wasn't really you I hated—it was myself. For allowing circumstances to get to the point that you'd rather pledge your life to someone else. For _leaving you_ in Baltar's arms on Colonial Day and _letting_ _you_ leave the bunk room that night we almost frakked and _letting you_ go back to Caprica for Sam without fighting for you first. For _letting you_ practically frak Sam in front of me and not wrenching you from his arms to prove that nothing could match what existed between us. For _waiting_ until you'd already moved to New Caprica to show the depth of my longing for you. For…for…for _leaving you_ at that cabin on Caprica instead of claiming you as mine and no one else's, damn the gods, damn Zak, damn anyone who'd keep us apart."

Lee caught himself then, realizing how much he'd revealed. He was breathless and suddenly horrified. Kara deftly interpreted the expression on Apollo's face, her arms quickly drawing his chest to hers as she kissed him. Acute anguish was traded back and forth, their lips pleading, soothing, and attacking by turn. Trembling limbs, imploring fingers, desperate moans; their cellular memories conveyed tales their minds could not give conscious expression to.

Slowly becoming aware he was rutting his hard-on between her splayed legs, Lee reluctantly sat up, drawing his knees nearer his chest and wrapping his arms around them. It was a painful position, one he hoped would immediately dampen the intensity of the passions coursing through every nerve ending.

Kara sat as well, still panting, her skin flushed. She swung her legs around and stood, moving over to her own bunk. Fumbling with the few items on the shelf above, she pulled out a book and tenderly removed the paper from the inside cover. Walking back, she eased into the couch, taking deep breaths. Lee witnessed her hands shaking, and wondered if it was related to the moments before or to the content of the page clasped in her fingers.

Raising her head, she focused on Apollo's gaze. "Maybe you need to know that I kept this. That I'm as just as guilty of holding back and letting things slip away because I wouldn't put myself out there."

Lee took the document from her, feet shifting to the floor, head bent, as he processed the meaning of the thing she was revealing. He read the words he'd written so many years and lives ago, surprised by the relevance and poignancy still resonating within those lines. He felt the desire to cry, but the expression wouldn't relieve the pressure building in his chest, so the impulse lingered impotently.

Looking deep into the eyes of the person who'd affected him so intensely, he wondered if he was supposed to say something, wait for her to speak, or make love to her.

"I'd managed to keep that, this one piece of incontrovertible proof that there had been an 'us.' Sometimes I used it to remember being with you, and other times I used it to remind myself why I should never connect with anyone that intimately again. So deep it could kill me, so profound I wanted to believe in it over my own better judgment."

He grabbed her hands, letting his thumbs stroke her wrists. Kara looked down, shaking her head, lost in her warring thoughts. With a catch in her voice, she continued.

"Sam found the paper. Recently, I think, judging from the way he brought the subject up. I'd never talked to him about…about what had happened. Between you and me. I mean, any of it." She bit her lip.

Braving to look on him fully, Kara wrapped her fingers around Apollo's hands, stilling them. "I hadn't admitted that history to anyone before; even Helo only knows a few parts." Lee nodded, understanding all too well what it was like to carry the experiences as self-contained, the burdens borne alone and in secret.

I'm a mess, Apollo. I have less to offer you now than I did when you wrote that poem, or when we parted ways on New Caprica."

Lee swallowed hard. He wanted to argue with her, to stop these words that always preceded a devastating punch in the gut. Since the end of the worlds, she'd used this line of reasoning whenever she wanted to push him away, make him see the folly of pursuing her. And after the words would come the acting out, the self-fulfilling destruction that led to another tectonic shift, the painful upheavals that mapped out their relationship over the last few years.

He forced himself to find the calmness, a vein of rock deeper internally than the fissures representing the pains of the past. He remembered the conversations he'd had with the Priestess and disciplined his mind to focus strategically. Lee could let Kara finish, and then he'd determine the next best action to take.

"But I want. I want to—to—" Kara said, barely audible.

Lee felt the goosebumps ripple across his body. She wasn't taking the same course; she seemed to be ready to change directions. Was he reading her right? He made sure his gaze remained steady and open. She didn't avert her eyes.

"Are you still in love with my ghost, Apollo? Can the present have more pull than the past? Because I want to believe that you could…I could…"

"That we'll find our way back to each other?" Lee tentatively finished for her.

"Yeah," she said with an exhaled breath. Her eyes closed as the emotion seized in her sternum.

"We already are, Kara," Lee murmured as he let himself surrender once more to the draw of those lips trembling before him. When he pulled apart from her, breath heavy, he added, "and we can't hold back. Wherever it goes. We already know how it turns out if we aren't—"

"Going to fight for it until we can't anymore."

"Mmm," Lee hummed as he went for her mouth again. She stopped his momentum, her hands forcefully gripping his face. "No takebacks."

"No, Kara. No takebacks." He said the words slowly, his gaze penetrating. "And no sudden disappearances or marriages, okay?" He smiled briefly, but the edge in his voice gave away the depth of his fears.

"Okay." She curled up against him in a warm embrace. "Is it alright if we crawl into the rack now? I'm actually tired." Lee smiled as he nuzzled into her hair. That was a very good sign, if she _wanted_ to fall asleep. And he'd be able to keep her close, in his arms, the whole night.

Lee thought back to his trepidation only a few hours before, his anxiety that she'd have disappeared, moved out. He marveled at the new path they were charting, and remembered to give a silent prayer to the Lords of Kobol that maybe their interventions were finally leading to tangible change.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: "Ghost network" concept comes from an episode of the TV show Fringe. Tuning concept comes from the movie Dark City. No infringements intended.

Epigenetics is a real area of study in the field of genetics. Basically, scientists are discovering that there are ways that changes can be passed down from one generation to the next that are NOT through alterations in the DNA code itself. Certain components—proteins or protein fragments—can attach to the DNA strands, changing the expression of genes (e.g., what we observe in a person, such as eye color) without changing the genes themselves. Amazingly, those expressions can be passed down to other generations, even though the genes haven't been altered! Equally important, these changes (the components) may come from environmental factors.

Baltar's research was revealed in Chapter Nine (about 2/3 of the way through the chapter).


	22. Ch 17: Are We Falling or Flying?

**Author's note: **Well, I could try and offer explanations for the long dead space in writing, but the long and the short of it is-for reasons both rational and not so rational-I just didn't write for a long time (at least, I didn't get to write about anything one could classify as fun).

I always had the plans in the place for the continuation of the story, I just didn't seem to have the sense of how to actually turn those plans into words on pages. Finally, though, the muse heralded her return…and here I am.

I want to give a shout-out to KAG523—her stories drew me back into the BSG world, a place I had found somehow painful to visit after the ending that was RDM's. I also owe (not for the first time) significant thanks to my friend and beta uberscribbler, to whom I give credit for the idea of beginning a new book for the story, for the title of this book, and for the encouragement (including sharing there had been some recent mentions of EH in NO TAKEBACKS in LJ) to dive back into this labor of love.

The action takes place where Defiance left off…for there are many light years to go before our characters find Earth.

**EVENT HORIZON: OFFENSIVES**

**Book II. Chapter 1: Are We Falling or Flying?**

"_All of the significant battles are waged within the self." Sheldon Kopp_

"_History teaches us that men and nations behave wisely once they have exhausted all other alternatives." Abba Eban_

"_In battling evil, excess is good; for he who is moderate in announcing the truth is presenting half-truth. He conceals the other half out of fear of the people's wrath." Kahlil Gibran_

**Sit Rep: Pegasus, Senior Officers' Quarters, End of Day Nineteen**

_Kara was smiling. Sun caressed her skin, the warmth soothing. A light waft of air shifted hair away from her face; the gentle tugging against her scalp felt wonderful. With deep breaths and a meandering gait, Kara walked forward, eyes tilted upwards. She'd always been mesmerized by the sway of weeping willow branches, gliding like long fans across the span of sky, and the massive size of the old trees near the main Temple captivated her every time. _

_With a slight frown, Kara registered where she actually was. Her gaze re-focused on the immediate horizon; the Opera House was directly ahead, the doors open and ceremonial tapestry dancing in the wind, brushing the threshold languidly. _

_The central Temple for Caprica City was on the outskirts of the old "town proper." Built centuries before the gleaming skyscrapers of the modern era, the historical monument had been preserved in its entirety, including the blessed grounds that fanned out in a ten-mile radius and cocooned the sacred site from time and the baseness of ordinary life. _

_The domed structure had served as the worshipping place of Capricans for more than four hundred years. Through an extensive restoration, completed while Kara was still in grade school, it had been returned to its prime glory. When the renovations were finished, a four-day festival to the Lords of Kobol had been held, one of the most exciting events Kara ever experienced. A friend's mother had actually brought Kara along with her own daughters, allowing her to be a normal child for three full days. Most of the time, they'd stayed in the downtown area, enjoying the parades, ride, and food. One afternoon, however, the mother had taken all of the girls to the Temple, to let them experience the real meaning of the week-long holiday._

_According to tradition, when a temple was built or restored, a "choir of joy" was to sing the praises of the gods, unceasing, for a period of no less than three days. To meet the sacred obligation, groups would come in shifts to relieve each previous chorus, until thirty-six hours had passed. Although the ritual had fallen out of favor, due to the strain, planning, and expense, for the re-opening of the central Temple of Caprica City, it had been resurrected. Capricans began referring to the structure as the "Opera House," because the music was broadcast and could be heard throughout the city for the entire duration of the ceremonies. Some had found it to be a nuisance, interrupting sleep, but most of the populace came to remember the "Opera House Days" as unique, treasured memories of an ethereal atmosphere permeating the walls of every domicile._

_When Kara had been brought to the Temple to hear the choirs performing for that afternoon, she was enthralled. The pungent incense, the brightly lit inner sanctuary, the beautiful men and women clothed in historical garb chanting the prayers—she remembered every detail. Her commitment to her faith had been solidified during that afternoon, forever blended with the feelings of respite and security Kara associated with those few days. It was the Halcyon period, time out of time, a marked departure from the rest of her childhood existence._

_Those feelings flooded Kara now as she stared at the building, her heart expanding with happiness. She broke into a run, bare feet slipping through the cool grass, hair swirling in the currents of wind just picking up. Bounding the stairs, a huge smile came across her face as she stepped past the tapestry and into the atrium. Someone was there, waiting for her, arms outstretched, beckoning her to come directly to the dais._

_The plaintive, pure tones of chanting suddenly seemed to fill the space. Kara tried to make out whom the person was, standing up on the inner sanctuary platform, but somehow the light behind the figure obscured any distinctive features. It wasn't until she was less than ten feet away that she recognized him, his smile dazzling, his warmth as soothing as the sun's outside._

"_Apollo," she said simply, eyes dancing._

"_Starbuck," he replied, his voice assured and vibrant._

_Without warning, everything shifted. The music stopped, and an eerie sound of wind whistled behind Kara. Apollo remained bathed in light, and a woman in a hooded ceremonial robe stood to his left. She was holding something; it was an azure blue sphere. The woman made a single arm movement indicating Kara was to come and take the object._

_Inexplicably afraid, Kara turned to Apollo. She couldn't see into his eyes; they appeared iridescent, the way a cat's eyes looked when the light hit in the dead center. His facial expression was one of hopefulness, but there was a pleading there, an edge of desperation. When he spoke, however, he still sounded strong and certain. _

"_Starbuck, you've made your way back. Everything's in place, at last. There's only one step remaining. It's what you wanted—what we've wanted. Since the Cycles began. Restore to me what was mine, what is ours. What was always yours."_

_Tears began trickling down Kara's face as she stepped into the same sphere of light; she grasped the blue orb, then kissed the hand of the woman who had been holding it. Kneeling, her head bent, Kara measured the heft of the object, surprised by how substantial it was; as she pressed her lips to the orb, she moaned softly, a wave of heat shooting through her. Pressing it tightly to her chest, her heart seemed to burn, as though embers had been re-stoked and kindled anew. _

_Standing slowly, Kara faced Apollo. His eyes were his own, finally, fierce and gentle together, intensely focused on her. She choked back a sob as it dawned on her his eyes were of the same hue as the sphere in her grasp. It was of his essence, and she was meant t o restore it…to him. Of him, returning to him…but of her too, as her heart had responded as well._

_Lifting the object between their bodies, Kara took each of his hands and placed them around the orb, overlaying her own. There were two sharp intakes of breath—Apollo's, then Starbuck's—and one shuddering outbreath in unison._

"_To complete the journey, you must forgive all," Apollo whispered._

"_I forgive all." Her eyes were transfixed with his._

"_To complete the journey, you must love all." He pulled her closer, chests nearly touching, the orb pressed firmly in the middle._

"_I love all…" Kara paused. There was more to the phrase, something else she was meant to say._

"_I love all of __**you**__," she exhaled. "Our love encompasses all."_

_His face wet, nodding, Apollo repeated, "our love encompasses all."_

_The hooded woman was suddenly close to them. "Starbuck, look at me," she commanded._

_Confused, reluctant to take her eyes away from Apollo, Kara turned to the figure._

"_Wing to wing, you remain. You are carried by wind, not water. The doors open only when the wings beat together; without both, there is no flight. He is the Leader, Kara, the Lord who agreed to be with the People; you must hold fast to him, lest he slip and fall alone."_

Kara twisted, her eyes fluttering open. It was dark; she tried to make sense of where she was. The moist breath against the back of her neck brought facts back into focus; she could feel Apollo's body pressed gently along hers, his arm wrapped around her waist.

Carefully, not wanting to wake the person beside her, Kara lifted a hand to feel her cheeks. They were damp; the tears had been real, even if the rest was a dream. She struggled to recall the details of the images, surprised at the juxtaposed feelings of happiness and anxiety that were still affecting her now that she was awake.

Extracting herself from Apollo's hold, Kara got up and rinsed her face. With a long sigh, she leaned back against the other wall, closing her eyes and rolling her head back and forth. It was difficult to shake the dream; something important from it kept tugging at her consciousness. It was more vivid, almost like a…a vision. The sensations had been so acute—it still felt as though the orb was pressed against her chest, heat radiating into every pore. Certain words stood out: _ forgive all, love all of you, wing to wing you remain_. They sounded as though they were taken from the sacred scrolls, rather than phrases Kara herself would normally use.

Apollo's voice next to her stopped all other thoughts, temporarily.

"Hey, are you alright?" He cupped her face, kissing her forehead lightly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just…" she wasn't sure what to say had happened minutes before. Looking into Apollo's face, a sensation of wholeness washed over her—that breathtaking shock of blue that charged her every time she stared into his gaze, pulling her close until there was nothing between them—no barrier of time or space.

She tilted her head to kiss him, letting herself be wrapped up completely in his arms. Kara's fingers playfully wended their way over his back, around his neck, up into his hairline. She could feel his heart quicken, sense the change in his breathing as their lips came together more and more desperately. And then it happened. Finally—the depth of feeling that was as though his spirit was pouring into her, and hers into him. She was overwhelmed; it had been more than a year and a half since she'd felt that profound connection with him, and that was after nearly four years of forced and voluntary separations. Kara shuddered.

Lee broke the kiss, his eyes filled with surprise, the glance edged with trepidation. Kara immediately knew why; the last time they'd shared this level of exchange, she'd fled, leaving scorched ground in her wake. Kara leaned heavily against him, lightheaded, falling into the spell of his gaze. "I love all of you," she found herself saying, holding her breath as soon as the words left her lips.

Wonder replaced anxiety, as his irises seemed to widen and darken preternaturally. Something ineffable shifted, as though the two of them had jumped the tracks from one life path to another in the space of those five words. Lee's lips moved, but no words came out; he bent in and kissed her with a sweet slowness that left Kara with her legs uncertain beneath her. She pulled him in more tightly, hoping he could feel, with all his being, she wasn't afraid of it this time.

Her body surged with current, a jumping cable of electrified want. Kara let out a long moan, trembling, struggling with what she wanted to do. A part of her was ready to give in to the hunger, but fear clawed at her heart at the same time. It wasn't Apollo, and it wasn't even her—at least, not the former Kara who was drawn to and afraid of the power of their emotional intimacy. It was the cellular memory of what she'd endured at Leoben's hands, her mind and body wavering between the hope of the present and the utter abject despair of the past, the self-loathing and doubting and bitterness.

Lee's own desire was apparent and reaching a tipping point. He whimpered in almost physical pain as he pulled away, gently pushing Kara until there was a space of a few inches between them. Gods, when she kissed him like that, he felt he could fall more deeply into her without ever reaching an end.

Kara tried to slow her breathing and feel her feet on the floor again. She looked at Apollo, knowing she was still trapped in a limbo she couldn't fully explain. To her amazement, he gave a small smile.

"It's okay, Kara. It is. We're not at that point yet…even though we went…it shifted…"

Kara nodded, eyes closing. "Breath of life. Even when I couldn't keep anything straight in my head back on New Caprica, I remembered that. With you. Always, only, with you." She opened her eyes again and smiled as she whispered the last words, still marveling she was saying anything at all and wondering where her newfound skill at declarations had come from.

Apollo's countenance transformed into an expression Kara had never seen before and wasn't sure how to read. He took her hand and led her back to the other room; they sat side by side at the foot of the bed.

"I'm not sure how to tell you about some of the things I've experienced recently," he started, quietly. "I've had—" he weighed the word carefully—"I've had _visions_." Apollo turned to watch Kara's reaction. "This woman…a Priestess…Pythia? I've seen her three times. Spoken to her, actually. And there are others, they've heard her too. Helo thinks—"

"_Helo_? You talked to Karl about this?" Kara was nonplussed. She'd never pictured the two men as close, certainly not enough for Apollo to share something so unusual and out of character for him.

"Yeah. We went through a lot together; it turns out we were destined to become close friends."

"Destined? Visions _and_ destiny—two words I didn't really think were in your vocabulary, Apollo," Kara said lightly, smiling as she shook her head.

"You're not the only one, believe me." Lee grinned in return. "I've become one of the faithful, you might say, and it's still pretty awkward." His face grew more serious. "Helo is one of the people who heard the Priestess, Kara. And it turns out, on New Caprica, Laura and Sharon had visions of her too. Helo suggested we should all meet and talk about what we experienced—he thinks there are clues in the images and words, messages about how to proceed. I want—"

"Proceed on what? Gods, Apollo, what are you talking about?" Kara fidgeted and bit her lip. She didn't want to discourage him from telling her what was obviously heavy on his mind, but this side of him—and the implications about the people he was mentioning—it was unnerving.

Lee closed his eyes and took several deep breaths; his shoulders visibly relaxed. He interlaced his fingers with Kara's, and looked down at their hands as he started again.

"This is a big jump for me, Kara, from the person you've known. I can't expect you to absorb the full depth of everything at this point, just when you've come back, and I don't mean to…to upset you. You have a strong faith in the gods, though, and I want…I'm hoping…I'd like to take you into my confidence. Into this small group of people who, for some reason, have been given different pieces of the whole, given instructions."

"But instructions to _what_, Apollo? I still don't understand."

"To Earth. Information leading us to Earth." Lee looked cautiously at her.

"You, Helo, Sharon, and Laura—have all had visions about how to find Earth?"

"No, not that straightforwardly…" Lee grimaced in exasperation, struggling for words. We've all had visions and heard messages. Riddles, honestly. Together, though, the riddles might start to add up to something concrete, something we can use to figure out a path that's more than a stab in the dark."

"I don't know what I could add," Kara said, swallowing hard. She had a distinct sensation of the ground falling out from under her; she was pretty sure she'd just had an experience with a Priestess too, and she wasn't ready to disclose what had transpired. It didn't make sense that Kara Thrace would have anything to do with destinies or finding long lost colonies. If Kara had really received a divine communication, if she was a part of what Apollo was describing, then that would mean Leoben had been right, that Leoben had known something, and Kara simply wasn't prepared to accept the totality of such an idea.

"I want your perspective, your instincts," Lee said, unaware of the deeper turmoil of Kara's emotions. "and I want…I need to be able to talk to you about it, to make sure I'm not losing my mind."

She scoffed. "Don't know I'm your girl, Apollo—or have you forgotten the racket I raised only a few nights ago, thinking you were that…that Cylon? Her throat constricted.

Lee squeezed her hand hard. "I'd trust your take on things," he said simply.

Kara nodded slightly. "Still don't think that's a wise move, but I'll be a part of this…whatever it is…if you want me to."

He quickly kissed her cheek. "It'll be a meeting…I'm going to have Helo pick the time and place. Probably in the next day or so, depending on how crazy everything else is." Lee lightly stroked her face, concerned. "You look tired; let's settle back to sleep."

Kara acquiesced, though she wasn't sure she'd be able to slip back into oblivion any time in the near future. As she felt Lee's soft, regular breath against her neck once more, she clenched her fists against the anxiety painfully compressing her lungs.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, Day Twenty**

Caprica watched as the sweat dripped from her forehead onto the floor in an almost steady rhythm as she continued her exercises, alternating one-armed push-ups. She found the only way she could keep from screaming in madness was to concentrate on physical activity.

Her arm, broken during the crash landing on New Caprica, had healed satisfactorily. The workouts had begun as a way to build strength back up, but evolved into a desperate attempt to maintain sanity. The absence of anything to do, anyone to talk to, was becoming unbearable. The brief contact from Tyrol and the fragmented ghost conversation with Sharon—"Boomer," she reminded herself—had made the loneliness more acute. Caprica was unaccustomed to the sensation of loneliness; the only other times she could recall the emotion, enough to even be able to recognize it, had happened when she'd been with Gaius on New Caprica. The intensity was different, then; it was an unusual pain, to be lonely when you were actually "with" someone. Now, she was hit with the full force of true isolation, and she was choking on it.

The sound of someone calling her name startled Caprica. She quickly stood up, eying the barred door. One of the Pegasus guards was standing there with several items in his hands.

"I have some things to give you," the man said curtly.

Cautiously, Caprica walked up to the bars, her hands moving slowly towards the items he was holding through the spaces. She grasped the two bags and stepped backward, gingerly setting them on the small cot in the cell.

"Who are these things from?" she asked quietly, wondering if the guard would bother to answer.

"Somebody willing to trade in black market stuff to make sure I'd walk over here," was all he'd offer before turning heel. She listened to the odd echo of his walk as his figure disappeared down the corridor.

Sitting down to examine the contents, tears came to Caprica's eyes as she pulled out the items. Someone had arranged to bring her some warmer clothes, a few books to read, and paper and pen. A note stuck out from one of book covers; she tugged it loose.

"You aren't forgotten. Putting plan in action, but will take time. Expect to work against Cylons to prove yourself."

There was no name, but Caprica had to assume it was from Tyrol; no other human she knew would take the risk. Pulling a sweater over her head with a contented sigh, she took the pen and paper out and stretched out on the floor. She knew exactly what to start writing down: notes on how to construct the FTL enhancer.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Junior Officers' Section, Day Twenty-Two**

"Sam, come on man, wake up!" Galen shoved his friend hard as he bent over to yell in his ear. The only response was a low moan; Sam didn't move.

"Frakkin' asshole," Galen muttered. "You're turning into a godsdamned drunk." He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair and yanked as hard has he could. The larger man kicked and sputtered obscenities as he finally reached consciousness. With a guttural sound, he lurched upward.

"That hurt, you frakker! What the hell? Gods, my skull is imploding…" Sam gripped his face, rocking.

When you down a whole bottle of bad hooch in ninety minutes, even at your size, you're gonna feel it the next day, you dumb frak." Galen smacked Sam's head hard, for emphasis, sending the man reeling backward into the bed again.

When Sam could focus his eyes again without moaning, he glared at the other man. "What are you so pissed about?"

"Huh," Galen snorted. "Cleaning up after your sorry ass, maybe? Having to go through this routine for three days straight? Covering for you with the Sergeant? Needing someone to talk to and finding you a drooling mess? There's no explanation for your behavior, just a roommate who's turning into a charity case. Months on that hellhole of a planet and you don't crack once, but now you decide to give in, give up, give out. That's just royally frakked up."

Sam gingerly moved to edge of the bed and pushed himself up slowly. "You don't know what you're talking about, so leave me alone," he hissed.

"I would, believe me, but I got asked to watch after your sorry ass, and if I lose the roommate, I lose the room. I'm not going back to the grunts' racks just because you decided now was the perfect moment to feel sorry for yourself."

"Mmhphh," Sam said, his stomach turning sourer each passing minute. "Gotta hit the head," he spit out as he lumbered towards the hatch.

"Yeah, fine," Galen said dismissively, facing his locker. "I'll be waiting here for you; we have to report for duty together, so get the mess over with and be sure you wash the stink off."

When Sam re-entered their quarters fifteen minutes later, he saw some water and pills on the small table.

"Take those; I bribed four different people to find the strong stuff. It'll clear your head enough to make it through the shift. I've got more; it'll last for a couple days. You have that long to move past whatever this is, and you damn well better." Galen tossed Sam a set of BDUs. "Get dressed; we've got fifteen minutes left to make it to the other side of the ship for incursion prep drills."

"Hey, okay, just…gods, just enough with the clipped military bullshit talk! I'm sorry, alright? I know I haven't been right…I know." Sam sank into one of the chairs, his clothes wadded up in his hands. "Can you sit for a sec?"

Sam scowled. "This isn't the best time for a heart-to-heart—"

"It won't be that. I need a minute, that's all."

Galen begrudgingly flopped into the other seat. He studied his friend's face. "Look, we have to focus today. Things are getting worse out there with the Hamathos faction. Something's gonna go down, man, I can feel it."

"Yeah. I know I've seemed out of it, but I'm picking up the same vibe—I've been paying attention to the whispers and sidebar conversations." Sam tilted his head down, eyes closed. "Just need a few more minutes for the meds to kick in—right now, if I move, I see spots in my eyes."

"Sure, man. You'll be feeling a whole lot better in about five minutes—like I said, I traded for the good shit." Galen smiled a little. "Try taking out your frustrations on other people for a change, instead of yourself—it works wonders."

Sam chortled. "Well, I'm gonna plan on knocking out a lot of targets today, even if they're only simulated."

A few moments passed and Sam managed to get dressed. The two men headed towards the Marine command and control center, not saying much. They were pre-occupied with the training exercises for the rest of the day.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Mess Hall, End of Day Twenty-Two**

Helo sank into the nearest chair, setting his tray down with a clatter. He was too tired, making his movements clumsy. He glanced at the chrono on the wall and groaned, realizing how much work was left to get out of the way before he could seek the comforts of family and bed. "Frakkin' insurgents," he muttered to himself, wishing the crisis would take a turn one way or another. It wasn't that he wanted something catastrophic to happen; he just wanted to get out of neutral gear. The last few days, the wire chatter had been quiet, relatively speaking; whatever minimal talks had been taking place between the factions were stalled.

The Colonial military had been running different scenarios, trying to determine if a full-scale incursion was necessary. Helo tried to shake the gut feeling something unfortunate was about to happen, but it lingered persistently, and for whatever reason, he didn't think the preparations they were making would be enough. Maybe it was because there hadn't been any Cylon sightings; that was never a good thing. Every day that passed without an encounter meant the odds were going up for an eventual battle. It was superstition, but he tended to believe it too—the longer between Cylon sightings, the more likely the next meeting would be a big clash with many casualties.

The other reason Helo was on edge stemmed from his wife's recent behavior. Sharon tried not to worry him, but she sensed Hamathos and the insurgents were plotting a significant event. It was hard to figure out what it might look like; despite the military's preparations for an attack, Sharon was convinced it would be more stealthy and ultimately more personal. Hamathos had demonstrated she was emotionally driven, swayed by personal vendettas; it seemed likely she'd choose a strike that would throw the military leadership off-balance. It would be move Hamathos could control—on her terms, a big statement meant to demonstrate her cleverness.

That line of speculation resonated with Helo. He trusted his wife's instincts, and his own dealings with Hamathos seemed consistent with the psychological profile Sharon presented. He was upset though, that he was too tired and strung out to think past the current plan, to imagine how she might come at them. Karl felt like he was carrying many of the leadership responsibilities himself; Adama was only functioning at 60% of his normal level, and with Lee out of commission, Helo, Dee, and Tigh were filling most of the CIC shifts and making the bulk of the operational decisions. Roslin had been oddly silent or absent from the activity. Lee was trying to step into the fray more, but his energy remained below par.

It troubled Karl that Cottle was going ahead with Lee's next surgery on his leg; he seemed to be getting around just fine and he needed to build back his strength. Helo had pressed Cottle about the need for the procedure, though it was out of line, because he just didn't want to face Lee being completely absent, even for a few days. Karl wouldn't have admitted to anyone—even Sharon—but he felt stronger when Lee was there, more capable of facing whatever was ahead. It was irrational to treat his friend as an emotional crutch—definitely not in keeping with his military training—and yet Karl couldn't help himself. Maybe the constant pressure and chaos were taking their toll on his psyche; he simply didn't want to keep confronting the odds alone.

The rattling of another tray on the table brought Helo's head up—it was Galen sitting down across from him. Helo tried to hide his surprise; they hadn't spoken much one-on-one since the rescue three weeks ago, despite being confined to the Bunker during most of that time.

"Hey, Chief…"

"Hi, Captain. Mind if I join you for a few?"

"Sure. Haven't talked much with all of the craziness around," Helo said evenly. He sensed Tyrol was nervous.

"Hard to know what to say, between what already happened and what continues to go on," Tyrol offered quietly.

"I keep hearing good things about your work managing the heightened security protocols for the fleet; thanks for all you're doing to make sure the people are safe."

"Um, yeah, thanks," Galen said, without conviction. "Look, you don't have to make conversation; I didn't really sit here to shoot the breeze." He studied Helo for a moment. "I have a…a situation. A proposition, really. Something that could really change the tables in our fight with the Cylons and our search for Earth."

Helo blinked several times, saying nothing. "What if I told you we could upgrade our FTL technology, allowing us to make longer jumps and change course in the middle of a jump?" Galen drummed his fingers on the table. "It involves—"

"Stop there, Chief. I can tell this isn't a conversation for a mess hall. I'll hear you out, but we can't talk in this place."

Nodding, Galen said, "there's a storage area not too far from the brig; do you know the spot?"

"Umm-hmm. You go first; I'll leave in five minutes and meet you there."

Without saying more, Galen got up and rid himself of food and tray, sliding past the doors quickly.

Helo followed shortly after, wolfing down his food first. He didn't know when he'd get to eat again, and he needed to try to settle the roiling in his gut. Moving at a brisk pace, he reached the small utility room and made sure not to be noticed as he slipped in and carefully pulled the hatch shut behind him.

"Okay, Tyrol, you need to level with me before we go any further down this path. Does this involve Boomer?" He narrowed his eyes and stared at Galen.

To Tyrol's credit, he didn't miss a beat. "Yeah. And for the reasons you'd imagine, Karl."

Shaking his head, Helo paced. "Chief, there's enough paranoia over what our own people are plotting right now; no one's gonna add suspicions—no certainties—about the motives of imprisoned Cylons into that mix. You shouldn't even be talking to her."

Eyes dark and hard, Galen stepped close. "You, of all people, know what its like to love _her._ That you'd do anything to protect her, safeguard her, secure her freedom to be able to be with her. I know you understand that, Karl."

Helo scrubbed his face, sighing deeply. "I didn't mean…I'm not judging you. And I'd have to understand…I _do _understand. Especially given what…how hard the situation has to have been with—that you never had closure. But Godsdamnit, Galen, she's the one who shot Bill Adama. Sam told me she was part of the Cylon Cabinet; she agreed to the terrible treatment of our people, voted for the imprisonments and torture and massacres—"

"But she _isn't_ that Boomer. She resurrected, and she's no more or less a 'copy' of the assassin Sharon than your wife is; she has independent thoughts and actions too. And you're wrong about her role regarding the treatment of the humans. The others on the Cylon Cabinet, they planned to kill this Sharon and the second Cylon, Caprica, for being human sympathizers."

"What do you mean, _kill_, Galen? They can't—"

"They intended to abandon the two on New Caprica, too far away from anywhere to survive in the cold without food, water, or shelter. When the rest of the Cylons abandoned the planet—which they were going to do, just destroy what remained of the Colonial settlers, then leave—there would be no way for Caprica and Boomer to resurrect."

"And why should we believe that story? They were both part of the Cabinet. It makes no sense."

"I told you—they were seen as human sympathizers, Karl—they tried to help the settlers, often enough the remaining Cabinet members didn't trust them any more."

Helo's face contorted. "Gods, Galen, I don't want to make you feel any worse, but I haven't heard anything that sounds like more than Cylon deception. I mean, if it's the downloaded Boomer, then she knows your buttons, knows what you'd find plausible."

"Isn't that what everyone else said to you when you brought Athena back from Caprica? And yet she's never wavered in her loyalty. She loved a human, wanted to be with the people she considered her friends and family. Boomer's not any different!"

"You mean this Cylon told you she came back for you, and you believed her."

Galen moved in close to Helo, rage in his features. "She didn't say that. And Boomer and Caprica saved lives—human lives—at the end, during the rescue. We were in a team, separated from the rest of the fighting, sent behind enemy lines to get more ammo. The place blew sky high; none of us could have made it out without those two Cylons.

"After taking our team to safety, they wanted to bring us back to the Colonial stronghold; it was night-time and bitter cold, but we refused. I led my team out in that dark, Karl, out to a likely death, because I didn't trust them. Despite that, they gathered foods, ammunition, and medical supplies, before finding us lost in the frozen expanse of Cylon territory and getting us back safely to the Colonial operating base."

Leaning against the wall, Helo crossed his arms, studying the floor for a moment. He was very conflicted; deep down, despite the obvious risks, Karl believed he owed Galen something when it came to Sharon—the Boomer Sharon. It was the reason he'd allowed the two Cylons aboard in the first place, and it had been obvious, from the start, where the path would lead. Helo had traveled the same road; he had to decide if he'd stick his neck out, the way the Old Man had, the way Kara had. Thinking about Hera, and about the hostility still directed at his family, Helo decided the only way the future might be different for his child is if other people realized not all Cylons were hell-bent on destroying the human race. Maybe this Sharon couldn't be trusted, but he could at least hear out the plan she'd presented.

With a decisive gesture and a resigned breath, Karl indicated Galen should continue. Twenty minutes later, as soon as Tyrol finished, the two were making their way to Caprica's cell.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Corridor, End of Day 22**

Lee pushed his steps, wishing the guard in tow behind him wasn't necessary. He had to be alone, however, for the task he wanted to accomplish, and Lee had promised Helo he wouldn't wander the corridors without backup, especially since running on his damaged leg was still out of the question. They reached the door to the temple; Lee signaled the soldier to wait at the entrance.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimmed area, he slowly made his way to the main altar. Setting the icon for burial rites on the stone slab, he blew out all of the candles nearby, save one. With a bowed head, he concentrated to remember the words for the successive prayers; he'd only memorized them with Helo a few days ago, and the pronunciations still felt strange to his tongue.

After each short incantation, Lee re-lit a candle. The renewed flame represented a life the deceased person had touched. When twelve lights flickered, he arranged these in a semi-circle and moved the original candle into the center of the arc. Pulling a photo from his pocket, Lee held up the image, a finger lightly tracing the person's face captured there.

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, Kat," he whispered heavily. "I wish I could have said thank you. I made it back…back to myself, and you were a big part of the reason why. I wish I could have set eyes on you again, given you a big hug, and celebrated the success of the rescue, of what we accomplished together. Racetrack told me how both of you held off the Cylon forces, the moves she—" Lee trembled slightly. "You were so much more than others gave you credit for, Kat, and most of all I wanted to ask the gods to…to give special honor to my_ friend_. Because I miss you, Luanne. And I always will. May you be laughing and happy in the Elysian Fields." He carefully set the picture over the center flame, mesmerized by the quick penetration and spread of the ragged burning through the material.

The sound of the door opening caught Lee by surprise; swinging around, he called out to the guard. "I told you I'd be—"

"Apollo?"

"Kara?" Lee's voice cracked. He was overcome with sudden feelings of shame and fear; he hadn't found a way to tell Kara about his relationship with Kat, and he didn't want to launch into it now, with tears still streaked across his cheeks. He wasn't ready, and he consoled himself Kara wasn't ready for that story yet either. They needed more time together first—

"I didn't mean to interrupt your…I never imagined you'd be…" Kara actually seemed tongue-tied.

"It's okay to be a little unsettled seeing me here," Lee offered, quickly composing himself. "It isn't something that's ever happened before…us in a temple at the same time…" he laughed softly and awkwardly.

"True," Kara responded with a crooked smile. She moved close to Apollo, glancing down at the alter. "Saying goodbye to some of the people lost…"

"In the battle of New Caprica." Lee shifted uncomfortably, the words uneven and more emotionally charged than he'd wanted to let on.

Kara picked up the bottom edge of the picture that still remained somewhat intact. She could only make out, in the lighting, the coloring and insignia of a Pegasus uniform. "One of the ones who helped you plan the rescue." She stared at the fragmented image for a long moment before looking up at Apollo. "You regret not being here, leading the charge at the end, when Galactica—"

"No, Kara, that's not it—believe me. My sadness is just in not having had the chance to say goodbye, to attend the mourning ceremonies. That's why I came here, to finally be able to honor the fallen and those close to me who didn't make it. There's been no time, no quiet moment to grieve, and I needed…wanted to…" his chest tightened. Emotions threatened to overwhelm him in an unbalancing rush; Lee began to understand he hadn't processed a lot of things from the aftermath of the rescue and he was going to have to clamp down his thoughts—right now—or risk unburdening himself on someone who'd already suffered too much.

Avoiding Kara's gaze, Lee straightened himself and transferred his weight to be able to walk back to the door. "I'd finished, though, and you'd probably like to pray without someone—"

"Stay," Kara said, quickly grabbing his free hand to still him. "It…I could…just stay."

Nodding, Lee turned his body again to face her. Kara leaned over the candles, dropping Lee's grasp to run her hand above the wicks, letting the heat lightly sting her palm.

"I spent a lot of time alone when I…when the Cylon…I never saw any humans or even interacted with other Cylons unless I had to go for medical treatment."

Unsure of himself, seeing Kara vulnerable, Lee stayed silent.

Continuing to stare at the singular flames, Kara seemed to fall into a trance. "The isolation and confinement drives you mad, you know? I get these flashes of memories now—out of nowhere, intense and frightening. But I can't even be sure…he kept me on a lot of drugs, so I try to figure out what really happened and what was hallucination. Only I can't figure it out. There's no way to piece together the bits of things…and when I have the flashes, I start to think it would better if I didn't remember anything at all."

Lee pressed next to her, shoulders touching, knuckles brushing. "For a year after I came back from the Eos, I experienced something like that too. The disjointed memories, the feelings that slam you unexpectedly, the jolts of fear out of the blue."

Kara entwined her fingers with Apollo's. "What helped you to…how did you finally move past it?"

"Um, do you want the pretty version, or the not-so-pretty one?" Lee said, smiling ruefully, tilting his head towards her.

"Whatever you want to answer," Kara said, knowing she was treading into the troubled waters of his past and their shared past too.

Nodding, Lee gestured for them both to move to a small bench along the back wall.

"I worked with a counselor for a while. He taught me some breathing techniques, muscle tension and release patterns, and ways to ground myself in the present—little things like humming a favorite tune or rubbing a sentimental object—"

"Comm'on, Apollo, that's not exactly—"

"Look, Kara, the strategy is to remind yourself where you are—to be in your body, in the current time, and realize the past is nothing but ephemera—wisps of smoke. It's like shadow-boxing—a phantom opponent—nothing's actually there. In battle, you wouldn't spend your time focused on what just happened, or you'd never make it to the next moment. You can't go into a new skirmish trying to re-fight the previous one, because there isn't any way to do that. You beat back the enemy by being the best kind of opportunist—seizing every advantage crossing your path at the next second."

"But what about learning from your mistakes? And the way memories invade the present?"

"There's a difference between learning to develop strategy and rehashing the same pain. You remember when you had to take down Scar?"

"You mean, when _Kat_ did—"

Lee flinched, despite himself, startled to hear her name said out loud. "But why was Kat the one to do it, Kara? Do you remember watching the vids of the pilots taken out by that raider over and over? Did it help you learn or did it just make the pain real all over again?"

She shook her head. Apollo was more right than he knew; Kara's memories of Scar from previous battles had messed with her head at that time, in that very fight.

"I'd rather fly again," Kara finally said, her voice edged with the anxiety that comes with knowing it's time to change behaviors or never get back on your feet again.

"And that'll come," Apollo assured her, nudging her shoulder affectionately. "In the meantime, though, if you'll at least try some of the tactics I'm suggesting, you might be surprised how much faster you can meet the psych eval criteria for active pilot status. In fact, I can think of one approach you might warm up to first," he said with a wink.

Kara crossed her arms, eyeing him. "Well?"

"Okay. First, let me explain it isn't…this doesn't relate to foreplay, so I wouldn't be trying to—"

"For frak's sake, Apollo!"

"It's about massaging pressure points, alright? You concentrate on breathing; you can't let your mind wander while it's happening, or you'll defeat the purpose of remaining in the present moment. While you focus on rhythmic breaths, the other person kneads specific muscle and nerve groups. By the time its over, I can guarantee you'll feel better—calmer, able to at least fall asleep peacefully."

Snorting, masking some nervousness, Kara stood up. "You're always big on promises, flyboy—can you execute?" She smirked.

Lee got up too, gesturing to the door. "I'm only gonna deliver if you agree to learn some of the other techniques too. I can't be your on-call masseuse."

"Don't flatter yourself, Apollo—I doubt it'll be that good."

"And I doubt you'll be awake long enough to even eat your words, Thrace, once I've finished." Lee smiled as they made their way back to their quarters, the guard a fair distance behind them. He believed Kara was actually going to let him help her, for once, and he was surprised how deeply happy that seemed to make him.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus CIC Ready Room, Day 23**

The sight of Tyrol in the room surprised Lee; he'd agreed to meet Helo at this gods-awful hour of the 'morning' to discuss "military strategy," but only because Karl hadn't given him much choice in the matter—he'd been so insistent and so mysterious at the same time, Lee recognized something important must be brewing. If the Chief was involved too, that had to mean the Cylon prisoners were involved in some way, and that was not encouraging; Lee had enough on his plate right now without taking on some crusade related to other Cylons.

Galen dipped his head in greeting as Lee took a seat. Karl, clearly excited and nervous, remained standing.

With a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, Lee asked Helo to tell him what the meeting was about.

"The Chief came to me yesterday with some information I think could be as important to us as the EMP weapon has been. I realize what we're sharing with you has some serious implications—some positive, some negative—and I just need you to hear the idea out completely."

Lee nodded and said nothing.

Carefully spreading out three sheets of drawings, Galen leaned in and began describing the Cylon technology. Apollo's eyes focused intently on the schematics as Tyrol explained the FTL drive enhancer mechanics and how the device, installed on each ship, would give them the ability to jump longer distances, maybe as much as 30 percent farther. His breath caught, though, when Tyrol began outlining the details of the Hyperspace Cylon Tracking device. The HCT, as Galen referred to it, could mean a turn in the Colonials' fortunes—a way to stay ahead of the Cylons, to always be where they weren't, to make it to Earth without the Cylons following.

"It could mean a chance to actually build up resources, Lee—limit our losses dramatically. We wouldn't be expending ammo and losing vipers and constantly recruiting pilots to fill the slots of those killed in the battle. We could focus on building something, instead of just struggling to survive." Helo was captivated by the possibility of search over escape, of deliberately charting a course forward instead of reacting to the constant threat of destruction.

"Tyrol, how long would it take to build and install the enhancers?" Lee was standing now too, energized and agitated.

"We don't have enough data to estimate the raw materials needed or the time to build, so anything I say right now is a wild guess—but if we could put enough people on it, I think we might pull it off in six months."

And the HCT—you build the one device for the Pegasus?"

"One HCT…but we still have to calibrate the differing grades of FTL technology aboard all the ships to enable the automatic cascade. If the fleet vessels aren't perfectly synced every time, the jump fails for everyone—it's all or nothing. The ships have to enter hyperspace at the same moment and they've got to be able to auto-shift coordinates at the same moment as well."

What happens if one of the FTL drives fails—mid jump or during the auto-shift?" Lee wasn't confident they could count on perfect FTL functions every time, based on the history of the fleet to date.

Tyrol sighed. "That's the most dangerous element of it. If a ship gets hit by weapons fire as it's entering the jump, there's a 30 percent probability the entire fleet will fall out of hyperspace, and it won't be controllable—different sections of the group could wind up in various sectors of space. If a vessel's FTL fails while in hyperspace during an auto-shift, the system automatically reverts to the original coordinates—the whole fleet comes out of hyperspace near the spot where the Cylon ships have been detected."

"That's 180 light years' radius, right?" Helo chimed in.

"Yeah—so depending on how far away the Cylons might be at the time, the fleet might still have a chance to fix the faulty FTL drive and try another jump." Galen looked at Lee as he spoke, trying to read the man's expressions.

Running his hands over his face, Lee was silent for a few minutes, taking in all of the ramifications of building and applying the technology.

"How do we know the designs are valid, Chief? I realize you have some trust in these two Cylons, but I don't. It could be a ruse or sabotage."

Tyrol folded his hands together on the table, measuring his words. "These Cylons—Boomer and Caprica—they saved my life and the lives of my men during the New Caprica battle. They were targeted for elimination by the Cylon Council because both women were seen as 'human sympathizers'. They are like Athena—Sharon—neither wants to be a part of the Cylon agenda any longer."

"I might be able to accept that, Galen, but it isn't enough to convince others in the leadership group. There has to be more proof—we have to know this is a legitimate option and we can't risk everything, especially in this climate with the insurgents, based on a 'gut feeling' we can trust these two particular Cylons."

"Agreed, Commander. So let me work with them to build a prototype. We'll demonstrate the legitimacy of the designs." Tyrol's face was earnest; Lee could see he was 100 percent committed to the plan already.

"Which brings us around to the heart of things: what do the Cylons want in exchange?" Apollo stared hard at Galen.

"Access to a lab, and living quarters—no more prison cells."

Helo interceded. "There'd be guards in the lab, observing all work, and the computers in the lab would be disengaged from the main systems—they wouldn't be able to hack in through any back doors."

Lee shook his head. "I don't see how we can find living quarters. They're safer where they are, frankly, given the current feelings running through the fleet, and we're short on space as it is."

"Put Boomer with me," Galen said softly.

"What? Chief, that's a spectacularly bad idea," Lee managed to say, exasperated.

"Commander, I'll be responsible for her. I can—"

"Galen, it's a conflict of interest, for so many reasons! And despite the fact you've seem to have forgotten, she put several bullets in my father's chest. I will not trust—"

Helo put a hand on Lee's shoulder. "She looks the same, Apollo, but she's not the same person—resurrected Cylons are not the same as their previous counterparts."

"Karl, I know your own history leads you to think—"

"Listen to me. The Cylons intended the resurrected versions to be perfect copies, and they were—at first. But somehow, individuation is taking place. As Cylons upload at different times, with unique experiences, they're changing. Sharon saw it, in the files she scanned during her time connected to the main Cylon computers on New Caprica. They know it's happening, and we can see it for ourselves now."

That still doesn't mean these Cylons on our ship intend to help us and it doesn't mean they're in any way to be trusted!" Lee was angry and unsettled by the turn the conversation was taking.

"Agreed, Lee. But we can make some effort here, in exchange for what we'll be getting. At least put them in a mid-security level cell together where there are real walls, not just bars, and they can actually talk to each other. We can give them warm clothes and decent beds, to show them we're willing to invest a little bit to see what comes of the prototype."

Lee's face was hard; he felt cornered and he didn't like it. If the request had come from someone else besides Karl, he'd have dismissed it outright. Apollo had made a promise, though, to be more open-minded where Sharon was concerned, and in some way, that extended to this Boomer. Beyond that, though, the technology was worth negotiating for. The Colonials needed a new lifeline of hope, and this just might be the answer.

"I'll take it to the Admiral. If he agrees, we'll relocate the two women to a mid-security level cell together and supervise the prototype work under guard. I'm not willing to do anything, though, before we get the insurgency faction under control—that still has to be our first priority—so make sure your work is focused on military operations."

Looking at the chrono, Lee realized he had somewhere else to be. "I'm headed out; we'll have another discussion about all this in a few days. I'm having the next surgery on my leg tomorrow, and I'll have to stay in sickbay for at least 48 hours afterward. I'll plan on talking with Admiral Adama once I'm out of there."

Propelling himself quickly down the corridor, Apollo could feel his heart hitting hard against his chest. So many possibilities seemed to exist as a result of the HCT option; they might be able to work on his other ideas for the development of the fleet, if they could buy more time away from Cylon fighting. He had to help the Colonials find a way to calm down the New Caprican faction and realize they were one nation—a people in search of a home, but a group with a united purpose. If he could only—

A sharp pain across the front of his head threw Lee backward unexpectedly. He fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands. Calling out to his guard escort, Apollo could hear the man's voice behind him, but the words were intermittent. Fighting to clear his vision, Lee attempted to stand, blood from his temple stinging his eyes. He was wobbly; the attacker had used a hard object to inflict significant injury. The assailant was rushing forward again, and Lee resorted to a fall and roll on the floor to avoid the next hit. A loud wail signaled the Marine guard had tackled the man. Just then, a second figure in black emerged from a side hall and grabbed Lee at an angle, pinning his arms. A wet spray, reeking of chemical odor, hit Apollo in the face; in a few seconds, he'd blacked out.

**Sit Rep: Interrogation Room, Insurgent Ship somewhere in the Colonial Fleet, Day 24**

Just sitting up was proving to be a struggle; between the drug and the likely concussion he'd received, Lee was leaning heavily against the restraints that bound him to the chair, fighting to breathe normally. The rubber tethers cut hard into his skin, compressing his chest and rendering his arms and hands numb.

He realized, with alarm, his previously injured leg had been assaulted anew; he couldn't put any weight on it without reeling in pain. The room was dark, and everything seemed to be spinning, from Lee's perspective. He shuddered as a wave of nausea hit and he tried to keep from tipping over in the chair as he threw up. It was agony; he couldn't take in any air and he thought he might choke to death in that moment.

A door opened, with a man hurrying to Lee's side to find out what was happening. In another moment, someone with a med kit seemed to be in front of Apollo. He must have passed out again, because his next memory was of lying on a cot, clothed only in his underwear, a woman pushing in a needle for an IV while another person chained his ankles to what he guessed was a large metal post in the floor. The individuals all spoke in whispers; Lee couldn't make out any of the words, but he gathered he was in pretty bad shape, judging from the urgency of the sounds.

He wanted to ask questions, but his tongue didn't seem to work properly—another indication his concussion was severe. Whatever was in the IV at least seemed to take the edge off the worst of the pain, and his nausea was starting to subside. He wanted to sleep badly, even though he was sure that would be the worst thing he could do, given his head injury. Apparently one of the people in the room thought the same thing; she kept slapping his cheek every time he began to drift off.

After an interminable number of minutes—or hours—the longing for sleep was making him cry. It was then figure entered the room and stood over him, leaning in to peer closely, her breath foul. "Welcome to my ship, Lee Adama. I'm Hamathos, the legitimate president you've been working to overthrow. Prepare yourself for a long stay."

**Sit Rep: Pegasus CIC Ready Room, Day 24**

Helo dug his nails into his palms, working hard to force the panic back down into his gut and keep his wits about him. With all of the security precautions and military escorts, Karl had tried to make sure something like this couldn't happen. He'd still failed. Commander Lee Adama had been kidnapped not even 500 feet from the CIC and had been taken away from the Pegasus. Four captains from insurgent ships claimed credit immediately; he heard the news over the hacked-in wireless broadcast before his own men had even realized what had happened. Helo was certain Hamathos was directly involved in the plan, even though she professed no knowledge of the events, and now it was a matter of finding out what she really wanted in terms of demands.

Everything was complicated by the unpredictable emotions of the people he normally considered stalwart—calm in the face of adversities. The Admiral had to be told now, and it was hard to say, these days, how he'd respond. The Old Man before the events of New Caprica would have kept his anxiety hidden under a barrage of orders and action; this version of him was…Karl just didn't know what to make of some of his behaviors or reasoning. Laura Roslin was only slightly more tethered psychologically. And then there was Kara…gods, he didn't want to tell her anything yet.

With a long exhale, Karl stepped into Dr. Martin's quarters. He hoped the psychiatrist would have some guidance on how to approach these people without sending anyone over the edge. He wasn't sure how much more he could take himself.

Dr. Martin sat as Helo also took a chair. He perched on the end, restless and unable to look any calmer at the moment.

With quiet intent, Dr. Martin listened to Karl's brief summary of events and considered his questions on how to break the news to others.

"Captain Agathon, the best approach is simply to tell the truth—what you know and what's still to be learned. I can be there with you and offer support to help them deal with their reactions—I'll make myself available at all times until Commander Lee Adama has returned safely."

"But what if…"

"Captain—Karl—these people are wounded, yes, but not broken. We can't protect them from the realities of the circumstances, and I don't think they would want us to. I understand your fears and I think we have to closely monitor everyone's psychological health right now—including your own."

"I'm fine," Helo muttered as he stood up, intent on ending this conversation as quickly as possible. He was not going to be the subject of discussion, especially this second.

The doctor shook her head slightly. "You've taken over the responsibilities normally handled by several other people, and those people are the ones you've also looked up to and relied upon. Now the roles are reversed, all at once and in a very short span of time—it's got to be a challenge, Karl. There's nothing lost in acknowledging that."

Helo looked at her, studying her face. "I appreciate what you're saying, Dr. Martin, but right now, I have to focus on the next steps. I need your expertise for specific things and my own thoughts are not up for discussion right now." He looked at his chrono. "They're expecting me in the Admiral's quarters—we need to go."

Nodding, Dr. Martin followed Karl through the hatch and down the hall. She wasn't going to admit to anyone else that she was professionally concerned about how the next 48 hours would be for the people waiting in the other quarters; she'd just have to hope there had been enough psychological progress made in the days prior to this crisis. It was Kara she worried for the most; the young woman's steps forward were closely linked to her relationship with Lee Adama and so far, Dr. Martin hadn't been able build any other links with her. Everyone needed more than one psychological stronghold, more than one element in life that brought a sense of satisfaction or belonging or accomplishment. With Kara Thrace, there seemed to be only two: Apollo and flying. Dr. Martin wasn't sure how she'd reach Kara if the woman withdrew from the world around her again.

Sam, Galen, Laura, Sharon, Kara, Saul and Bill Adama were all waiting there when Helo and Dr. Martin stepped into the private quarters. They said nothing after Karl finished his short explanation of what had happened.

The ring of the wireless made everyone jump. The Admiral picked up the receiver, then handed it to Helo. Pressing the speaker button, everyone in the room listened as an unrecognized male voice began making statements.

"I'm Captain Nicos, one of the New Caprican fleet ships loyal to President Hamathos. As you've heard by now, we have Commander Adama in a secure location aboard another New Caprican fleet vessel. We are prepared to provide our terms."

"Go on," Karl said.

"We demand the President be reinstated immediately to her lawful position. We insist on a guarantee that Lee Adama will be put on trial for dereliction of duty in leaving New Caprica when the Cylons attacked. We stipulate that a new government will be established based on the two populations—New Capricans and the Old Colonies. Finally, we demand that the New Capricans be apportioned supplies, including ships, weapons, and military support."

Helo shook his head but continued evenly, "and what are you prepared to provide in exchange?"

"We would agree to spare Commander Adama's life and promise not to harm him further."

"And you believe we will meet all of those demands based on that statement alone?" It was Roslin interjecting.

"We would also agree there would be no additional shows of force—you would be spared the spectacle of raids on Old Colonial ships and the deaths of more civilians."

Helo went to speak, but the Admiral signaled him to stop. Bill spoke instead. "We need time to consider arrangements for your demands—72 hours."

"No. 48 hours maximum. Otherwise, we take what we need by force and we try the Commander in our courts with fulfillment of sentence following immediately after."

"How will we contact you at the end of the designated time?" Adama asked in a low voice.

"I will communicate back on this frequency at the appointed time."

"We will provide our answers then."

"Sooner is better, Admiral—your son is in need of medical attention and he will not get it from us."

The line went dead. Bill stood very still, and no one seemed willing to break the oppressive silence.

Roslin started, "You don't intend to give in to them—"

"Absolutely not," Bill said. "We've got 48 hours to locate Lee and shut down the insurgency permanently."

The Admiral looked at Sam. "Anders, you and Tyrol have been running drills to prepare for counter-insurgency attacks. How prepared is your team?"

"They're ready for a full-scale event, Sir—these men and women served in the battles on New Caprica and we've trained them for search, seizure, and disarmament missions aboard the ships."

Galen added, "I've got a few men who've been infiltrating the insurgents' groups. It's taken a few days—it had to be guys that wouldn't be linked directly to us, to the military—but I think we can find the Commander, Sir. It might take 24 hours, but we've got people in the right spots—it's a matter of shaking the tree hard enough without drawing suspicion."

"Anders and Tyrol, I want to see the attack plans developed so far. I want the names of every captain we think is supportive of Hamathos and any files we have on them—planetary affiliation, professional background, other records—everything we can get our hands on. I want somebody to get here within the next few hours that has a legal background and can discuss constitutional strategies regarding the Quorum and elections and a review of the actions we've already taken. Dr. Martin—I want you to work with Tory and Karl and anyone else who might have known Hamathos before—develop a psych profile we can use to project her next moves. Athena, I want you and Tigh to run the CIC for the next few shifts—we need everything else to stay as even keel as possible right now. And Thrace, I want you to—" Bill stopped, realizing he didn't see Kara with the others. "Kara? Kara?"

Dr. Martin moved quickly to the sleeping quarters, certain no one had left through the main hatch. The room was dark, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she saw Kara on the floor, propped up in a corner, her sobs low and desperate.

Looking back to make sure no one else had followed, Dr. Martin waved the Admiral away from the door.

"Kara, take my hand and we'll go sit on the bed and talk," she said gently, clasping Kara and pulling her lightly to stand up.

Turning on a small lamp to see Kara's face better, Dr. Martin could tell the woman was going into emotional shock. She pulled a blanket from the edge of the bed and wrapped it around Kara's shoulders.

"Kara, I understand this is difficult and frightening. I won't deny the obvious—Lee's in a dangerous situation right now. You know, though, he's a survivor, like you. He thinks on his feet and he'll figure out how to protect himself best he can until we find him."

Kara shook her head, the pain pulling her features taut. "He's injured—they've hurt him. He can't defend himself. He can't—" she sobbed again.

Dr. Martin realized Kara was projecting her own experiences, imagining Lee at the hands of a Leoben. "Kara, he won't be prisoner for long. I know it seems similar, but this isn't like New Caprica; we have more resources and people ready to start the mission right away." She lightly pulled Kara's chin to look into her eyes. "Lee will be worried about you too, right now, Kara. I've learned enough about him to know he'd want you to take care of yourself, to stay present. He needs you to hold on to the progress you've made—you understand?"

Nodding, Kara pulled back a little, sitting straighter. Dr. Martin could see the fight in her beginning to surface a little.

"The Admiral has some work for you to do that'll help in planning the rescue mission. I'd like you to focus on those tasks right now, Kara. What do you think?" The doctor wanted to assess Kara's readiness to engage; it would help her figure out if Kara was coming out of the shock or not.

Kara nodded again. "Yes," she managed to say with some firmness. She stood up, wiping her face, letting the blanket drop away. Dr. Martin heard her mutter, "stay present, Thrace" under her breath as she balled her fists and moved out of the room.

The relief on the faces of the others was evident as the two emerged from the sleeping quarters. Sharon immediately stepped forward, her hand brushing Kara's waist to pull her close. "Whenever we take a break, I want you to come and stay with the Agathons for some food and shut-eye, okay? Hera's been asking for you."

Dr. Martin watched as Sharon's gaze caught her husband's and some message of understanding passed between them. A flash of tension and anticipation washed over Karl's face; the doctor had a distinct feeling there was another agenda besides the immediate interest in keeping Kara on solid footing.

She had to hope it wasn't anything too serious; she wasn't certain at all how much Kara was going to handle at this stage. Captain Thrace was only now beginning to deal with the traumas of her imprisonment on New Caprica, and that process was likely to get harder before things really improved mentally and emotionally. As it was, Dr. Martin wouldn't be able to make any other headway regarding those traumas until the current crisis was over; she had to fervently hope Commander Adama was returned safely, for Kara's sake and for the well-being of the other people in Dr. Martin's care.

At least Bill Adama seemed to be keeping it together. That was his years of training; they could all thank the gods he had always been so disciplined. Dr. Martin knew it would be important not to make assumptions all was fine below the exterior; still, he exhibited determination and clear-headedness, very good signs. He'd come along further than he gave himself credit for.

The Admiral's quarters emptied out, each person peeling off to his or her assigned tasks. All of them were aware time was limited and they couldn't afford delays or mistakes.

**Sit Rep: Commander Adama's Quarters, end of Day 24**

Kara emerged from the shower feeling a little better. She didn't want to spend too much time alone in these quarters—_their quarters_—because she didn't dare let her mind linger on thoughts of any kind. She had to keep moving, doing…gods, she wanted a drink right about now. Kara had avoided alcohol since the return to the fleet, knowing if she started she might not ever stop.

She could see how drinking had worked well in keeping her thoughts at bay, especially after the experience with Scar (and Apollo then)—_it worked_ _too well_. It'd clouded her mind—an intended effect, to be sure, but what had that led to? Shooting Apollo in the chest (thank the gods she wasn't responsible for this rescue mission, since_ that_ had gone so well for her the last time he was involved); watching Apollo move on with Dualla while she took up with Sam (how many days was she drunk, actually, during her courtship with Sammy?); moving to New Caprica and marrying Anders (wasn't she drunk or hung over for both of those decisions?); and for so many days during her marriage—she had a hard time thinking of an evening between them that didn't involve alcohol.

Then there had been those grueling months with Leoben, when her mind had been clouded by drugs again, but this time against her will. There were so many days she'd prayed for the chance to clear her head, to be able to put coherent thoughts together; other times, she was glad that she didn't remember much, that the events blurred into a macabre dream.

Back within the fleet, when she realized she was in relative safety and with Apollo again, she swore to the gods she wouldn't take her mental sharpness for granted any more. Even if she continued to make bad decisions, at least she'd know they were earned honestly—no crutches, no excuses to hide behind.

Kara decided once she got to Helo's quarters she'd try to convince him to head for the gym to exercise with her for a little while—maybe boxing. Anger was better than fear and worry, and if she was lucky, she'd be too exhausted afterward to think about anything; she could sleep for a few hours. Kara certainly didn't want to be responsible for keeping the Agathon family up all night with her pacing.

Dressing quickly, Kara eyed the small desk built into the wall next to Apollo's bed. Helo had asked her to look for any other notes Apollo might have developed related to the restructuring of the fleet, information beyond the report they'd already reviewed over the past days. Kara couldn't figure what Helo hoped to find; it wasn't going to help the rescue mission and this hardly seemed the time to be thinking about governments and policy-making. All the same, she'd held her tongue and agreed to see what she could get her hands on. She wasn't happy about going through Apollo's things; there was a time she might not have given it even a thought, or had any guilt over it, but that was a different period in their relationship. Kara realized now it was about respect—for him, and his trust in her—she didn't want to lose that again.

Tentatively, Kara pulled on the left drawer; it didn't yield. She realized, with a little surprise, it was locked. A knot formed in her stomach, but she pushed it aside; there were many reasons for locked drawers and none of them likely related to her specifically. With a little more force, she tugged on the right drawer, which slid out wide. A neatly arranged stack of folders was revealed. She pulled them out, slowly flipping through the titles. One captured her attention: "New Battlestar Schematics". She whistled under her breath as she examined the pages—sketches of a ship, engineering specs, outlines for weapons systems, and scribbled notes on materials needed and ways to find them. It wasn't really the size of a battlestar, at least not by the standards of the Colonies before the Second Cylon War—the scale suggested a vessel maybe two-thirds the size of Galactica—but it was a war ship, all the same.

Judging by the weight of the file, Apollo had been working on this for some time, even before the New Caprica rescue and destruction of the Galactica. Kara sat down on the bed, spreading the first third of the pages across the mattress, admiring the level of detail and accuracy. "_I never knew you had this in you, flyboy,_" she whispered to herself. Kara wondered again how many other talents Apollo had she'd never bothered to learn about—he offered so much more than she'd ever given him credit for. Tears welled as she thought about his capture and that she might be cheated, another time, from finally_ knowing_ him the way she'd always wanted to—appreciating him as deeply as he deserved.

With a growl, Kara jumped back up, gathering the papers and shoving them into the folder again. There was no value in sitting there feeling helpless. She wasn't ever going to allow anyone to define her as helpless again—Leoben had only accomplished that through the use of drugs, she reminded herself—she was Kara Thrace and she was going to do _something_. It might be good or bad, it might turn out well or not, but she would be in action.

Reviewing the rest of the files, Kara noticed one other item that might be of use to Helo. It was marked "Redesign of Quorum and Government Functions." Some of the material Kara recognized from the Operation Restoration Plan, but there were other documents and notes that seemed more recent. Returning all the other folders to the drawer, Kara grabbed her bag and headed out to the Agathons' quarters.

**Sit Rep: Room on an Insurgent Ship, Somewhere within the Fleet, Day 25**

Lee tried to remember the last time he'd been in this much pain, and he honestly thought it was the crash aboard the Eos. Even then, he'd been given morpha; there was no such help now. Given his concussion, that was probably just as well—it would likely have killed him—but the lack of sleep for 24 hours, the crushing pressure in his skull, and the shooting stabs of heat in his leg were robbing him of every reserve he'd managed to build up since the rescue of New Caprica.

He couldn't keep his thoughts together and he could feel the deep gnawing of fear begin crawling up his spine. He was worse off than the insurgents were realizing; he was nearing death, and there didn't seem to be a damned thing he could do about it. Lee had faced slow death before, of course, most vividly when he'd been captured by Resurgere; crashed on Eos; had his space suit run out of oxygen after ejection Black Bird; and the severe sepsis that set in after his mission to save Kara. But on none of those occasions had Lee himself actually believed he would die.

Now, it seemed, when he felt he had much to live for, he was compelled to acknowledge the gut-certainty sensation building inside. He was weak, disoriented, unable to walk, and chained to a bed in a dark room, gods-knew-where. The pain in his head made him weep uncontrollably, keeping from him sleep even after the insurgent assigned to watch him stopped using a prod to force him to stay awake. Something was terribly wrong; it might be internal injuries or a brain hemorrhage, and it was getting worse by the minute.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. Confused, Lee believed for a moment he had actually died, before the movement of someone in the room registered in his jumbled thoughts.

A man leaned over Lee, flashing a small light across his eyes. He was asking Lee questions; Lee tried to talk, but he couldn't seem to form words and he was dimly aware he was speaking jibberish. He was still crying from the pain, unable to move or even lift his arm to grab the man to get his attention. Lee knew he had to get help, in that second, or he wasn't going to live much longer, and he couldn't even find a way to communicate the desperation of his situation.

Lee thought he heard the person say "doctor" but he wasn't sure. There was a loud ringing in his ears now, and he was slipping in and out of awareness.

A cooling liquid was injected into the IV in Lee's arm and within a few seconds, he took a deep breath as the pain receded. In another few seconds, he lost consciousness.

When Lee awoke again, he realized his leg was in a cast and he wasn't in nearly as much pain. His captors had moved him yet another time, but this room was obviously designed for medical use—the bed was the same as those found in hospital units, with monitors hooked up on each side. He could see three IV bags hanging next to him. Despite his imprisonment, he was relieved to see he was getting medical care. The sensation of imminent death had subsided. Given they clearly hadn't performed any surgery on him, Lee wasn't sure why he was now doing so much better, but he knew he should simply thank the gods for sparing his life.

A person entered the room; Lee recognized him as the man who'd tried to talk to him earlier, when he wasn't able to form words.

"I've seen you before," Lee managed to say, his tongue slowly beginning to function.

"I'm Dr. Elarin. President Hamathos brought me in to treat your injuries."

Lee nodded his understanding. He still didn't have much energy, and there wasn't a lot he could gain from talking to this person, under the circumstances.

The doctor silently went about his work, checking the stats on the monitors, taking Lee's vital signs, and inspecting the IV tubes. Finally, he spoke again.

"You appear to be improving. Between the concussion and a fast-spreading infection in your leg, we needed to stabilize you. The IVs will need to stay in another two or three days; I'm going to have someone come to make sure you get up and walk at least four times a day too. You won't be allowed to leave the room, but you can pace in here—I don't want you spiking blood clots just when we have things under control again."

Lee tried to sit up; the doctor adjusted the levers on the bed to raise the front end. "When will someone be talking to me about why I'm here?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "I'm not privy to any information regarding your stay here, Commander. I'll let the others know you're alert enough to talk."

"The others—you mean Hamathos?"

"You'll have visitors soon enough. I'd recommend resting up."

Clearly uncomfortable, the physician turned and left the room. Lee closed his eyes and tried to will his body to relax. The man was right about one thing: he needed to rest if he had any hope of dealing with what lie ahead.

**Sit Rep: Exercise Room, Pegasus, end of Day 25**

Helo was grunting hard, dodging Kara's swinging right arm. He knew he couldn't last much longer; he was too tired for a full match. Agreeing to the exercise, though, would give him an opportunity to talk to Kara, something they hadn't really been able to do since she'd been back from New Caprica.

It was surprising, actually, how much strength Kara seemed to have at the moment; he expected her to be more out of shape, honestly, than she apparently was. Karl thought the seeming energy had something to do with adrenaline and anxiety, and he'd rather take her punches than watch her try to drown her sorrows the way she used to.

Kara stopped circling and signaled they should take a break. They went over to a bench near the bulkhead; she slouched back, closing her eyes for a minute before taking off the boxing gloves.

"Thanks, Helo, for agreeing to come here for a few minutes. I know you're tired, but you still gave me a run for my money," Kara said, smiling briefly.

"I'm glad you're hanging out with us for little while—it gives me a chance to spend more time with you. I really missed that."

"Me too. I've been meaning to…to thank you. And Sharon. For the rescue."

Helo touched her shoulder lightly. "Wish we could've reached you sooner, Starbuck."

The air was weighted with all the things they were thinking about, the events during that time.

"Look, Kara, I wanted to talk to you about something…I mean, about Lee."

She looked up at Karl. "I don't know that's a good idea; I'm trying not to think about what he—"

"I know how worried you are. I am too. But there are things that I've learned that make me feel better about what lies ahead, why I think he'll be alright, that he'll make it back here safely."

Helo could see he'd piqued Kara's curiosity. He went further. "It's about you too, though. The relationship. Why I hope you'll…"

"Stick it out this time?" Kara said it softly, without irritation or skepticism.

"Yeah, my friend, more or less. Look, as strange as all of this'll sound, Lee's had…visions. These words have come from a priestess, from Pythia. And what she's told him—well, I'll let you read it for yourself."

Helo pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "For a while after Lee had the first encounter with the woman, he didn't tell anybody about it. Later, though, he shared the details of the Priestess' conversation, and I pushed him to write them down. But before I give this to you, it's important that you see the bigger picture, because you're a part of it, and I need to be sure you get that. See, Lee isn't the only one who's had these visions. Laura's had them…and so have I."

Kara's eyes widened. "Helo, I've never even heard you talk about your faith, or about the gods…"

"I avoided the topic with most people, Kara. I've never told you much about my mom, but she was a descendent of Delphi. She used to speak of prophecies, things that scared me and angered me. But the events she spoke about came to pass—the Second Cylon War, the end of the worlds—and I realized later I should have paid better attention to her teachings."

"I'm still not understanding how all of this fits together, Karl. How does it involve Lee? Why do you think I need to know about these visions?"

Helo could hear the anxiousness in her voice. "It's not frightening, Kara—trust me. It's wonderful, in a way—hope for the whole fleet."

She turned to face him fully, trying to follow his line of thought.

Helo continued. "Have you ever heard of the Chresmologue?" Kara shook her head.

"It's a compilation of the oracles, the prophecies of our people. Many Colonials think its existence is a myth, but my mother had access to the actual book, and she used to talk about its contents. One of the important explanations in the Chresmologue concerns the Leader of Colonization, guided by the god Apollo. The quote that always stuck with me was 'Just as the Lords left to populate the Colonies, so certain individuals, in each cycle, are meant to expand the reach of humans in the universe, bring a group of people to a new place, where hopefully they evolve—rise above their base emotions and pettiness.'"

"But what makes you think he has anything to do with that prophecy?"

"Because…because we had a vision together. It—"

Kara stood up, agitated. "Karl, this is just too weird. How do you expect me to believe that—"

"Kara, if you think it's strange hearing about it, imagine what it's like trying to tell somebody, let alone experiencing it!" His voice was suddenly sharp.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to doubt, it's just so…" Kara wasn't sure what else to say.

"Look, one of the reasons I accepted it is because when I talked to Sharon about it, she said it lined up with some of the Cylon prophecies too. Especially about Apollo…and you."

Kara paled. "Karl, for the love of the gods, do not try and claim there's anything to Leoben's mutterings. He was obsessed—he was a sick frakker and I will not accept that he…he couldn't be right about things. He couldn't!" Her voice was reaching a shrieking sound.

Standing up quickly, Helo grabbed Kara and pulled her into a hug. "Shhhh, Starbuck. I didn't mean to get you this upset. I only wanted to…maybe I was wrong to bring any of this up." He could feel her trembling and he was beginning to seriously regret his plan.

After a few minutes passed in silence, Kara pulled back and looked into Helo's eyes. Finally, she asked, "What convinced you Apollo is this Leader of Colonization?"

"Because I was pulled into a trance, and recited the Prayer of Colonization, which identifies the one who is to lead. Later, I watched Lee fall into a trance and reveal information that appears to direct us towards Earth. And then Laura revealed a vision she shared with Lee, where Pythia ordered her to follow Apollo and support him in leading the people to their new home."

"Frak!" Kara said breathlessly, stunned. She sat down, her legs unsteady. Her mind flashed to her own vision a few nights ago. She was sure now it was a vision, not a dream, and her feelings were overwhelming. The Priestess' last words came to her, and she found herself repeating them out loud: "Wing to wing, you remain. You are carried by wind, not water. The doors open only when the wings beat together; without both, there is no flight. He is the Leader, Kara, the Lord who agreed to be with the People; you must hold fast to him, lest he slip and fall alone."

It was Karl's turn to be surprised. "Where did that come from?"

Kara laughed nervously. "My own vision, it seems. It came—she came—the other night. I wasn't going to tell anyone, but now…"

"Kara, it's what I wanted to say to you—that Lee has a purpose, a destiny, and he won't fulfill it without you next to him. That's why it's so important for you to…to…"

"Keep it together? Avoid a crash landing?" Her voice wasn't accusing, but her body language revealed her intense discomfort.

"Fight to keep making progress," Helo said, gently. "Fight for Lee, instead of pushing him away. He'll be coming back, Kara, I'm sure of it, and I'm hoping, if you realize what's going on here, you'll have the strength to give him a chance—give yourselves a real chance at a relationship."

She clasped Karl's hands in her own as he sat next to her once more. "Apollo and I've already started down that path," she said in a muted voice, tears catching in her throat. "I want to be with him, Karl," she added, "I just don't know if I'm capable of it, of what's needed."

Helo pulled one hand away to re-acquire the page he'd shown her before. "Maybe this will help you, for obstacles that might be ahead."

Kara bent to read the words, her mind spinning as she tried to absorb everything already revealed.

"_Nereids—sea nymph. A fish out of water. She believes she needs the sea to nourish her, make her whole. The sea is figurative of course; this woman believes she must swim in the ocean of space._

"_You are bound to her, Apollo; only you can give her full human form, pull her into the realm of man. Before you chose this incarnation, you chose her—do you understand? Starbuck—the nymph—you put your divine soul in her hands. It was to let her know she could restore it in its rightful place—once she embraced her human form she could walk up and return the soul to its proper owner. This was a great risk, and you are in agony because of it. She forgot what she possesses; in her carelessness, she has trampled over your gift of yourself, whipping you about as she flails in the ocean. _

_Since you are divine, it matters not. If you manifest her full human form, she'll remember. When she remembers, and your soul is restored, then the next phase finally begins. None will stand against you; the bond is too strong and overpowers all other energies in its path. _

_To fulfill your promise to her, and hers to you, when the time comes, stop at nothing to complete the rescue mission-bring her back to you, and you alone. Then remain motionless. MOTIONLESS! Let her help you; reverse the roles. The rescuer becomes the rescued. Only this way will your souls completely reunite. "_

Tears fell as Kara remembered the words Apollo had spoken to her in the vision: "_Starbuck, you've made your way back. Everything's in place, at last. There's only one step remaining. It's what you wanted—what we've wanted. Since the Cycles began. Restore to me what was mine, what is ours. What was always yours." _Kara thought about the sphere, how it seemed to be his essence, the sensation of the warmth and weight of it as she placed it between the two of them. _ "Return the soul to its proper owner." _But how did she do that in the real world? And what was she supposed to rescue Apollo from—what did the Priestess mean that he had to remain motionless?

"Kara, are you alright?" She looked up to see the deep concern in Helo's face.

"I'm okay…I'm just trying to…it's a lot to process." She wiped her face and stood up, offering her hand to Helo to pull him up too. "We should get back—Sharon's probably wondering what happened, and I know you need to get some rest."

"I hope it was a good thing…telling you all this. Maybe Sharon and I were wrong to—"

"Karl, don't worry," Kara said, giving him a brief hug. "All of this makes me feel a little more hopeful Apollo's going to make it back safely. And the prophecies, what the Priestess said about me…maybe it means I'm not only a curse for the Adama men. Or at least, that I can make amends for my past frak-ups."

As they headed back to the private quarters wing, Kara was lost in thought. Some part of her wanted to believe the same things Helo did—that Apollo was the leader to take them to Earth. She'd grown jaded in her beliefs about the existence of that place of possibility, about the very idea there was a future that might offer more than a weary struggle for survival that didn't mean anything. But fear gripped her tightly—to accept what she'd heard would mean accepting, on some level, that Leoben was telling the truth when he said she had a 'destiny.' She'd rejected everything about him, despising and hating him, his obsession with her. It was the cruelty of it all—Leoben had played with her deepest insecurity, the idea she had no value and the universe would have been better off without her. He'd suggested she did have a purpose, but her value was to him, to the Cylons. That was worse than feelings of worthlessness, to be considered an instrument for the enemy. Even more horrifying, he'd implied the same things her mother had—the only way Kara's life did add value was when she was the object of punishment.

Yet, if she entertained the idea these prophecies Karl had shared did have some significance, it would suggest she was accountable—serving a purpose meant also being responsible to carry out things. Was she capable of being that person—could she possibly bring happiness with her instead of pain?

If you liked it, please feed the muse by reviewing!


	23. Ch 18: The Rhythms of Drums

_My thanks, as always, to my readers, reviewers, and my awesome beta, Uberscribbler!_

**EVENT HORIZON: OFFENSIVES**

**Book II. Chapter 2: The Rhythms of the Drums**

"_Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head." The Bible_

"_To knock a thing down, especially if it is cocked at an arrogant angle, is a deep delight of the blood." George Santayana_

"_There's a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you're around;_

_I swear that you could hear it, It makes such an all mighty sound." Drumming Song, Florence and the Machine_

**Sit Rep: CIC Ready Room, Day 26**

Tyrol arranged the ship models on the board to show the current fleet configuration. He used raiders to stand in for the insurgent ships and pointed to one in the upper left quadrant of the board. "We've gotten intel from two sources that this is where Lee's being held. It's a class D science ship—designed to support 100 people, with a fully functional galley, sickbay, and such. They're keeping him in sickbay right now."

That means your team, Sam, will have to plan for carrying the Commander out; he might not be able to walk," Adama said, his jaw set, teeth clinched tight.

"The operatives couldn't get in the room to find out his condition, but there's been a lot of activity in and out of there," Sam replied. "So far, Hamathos has only visited him once, from what we can gather. His injuries seem to have been sustained at the time of capture."

"Well, we have to assume they did treat him, if he's in sickbay," Helo mused.

"It also means his injuries were pretty severe, if they felt they had to provide care, given what they originally threatened," Adama interjected pensively.

"What's the size of the guard there, Galen—how many people appear to be armed?" Helo asked.

"Twenty people with guns—automatic and semi-automatic—no armor-piercing rounds. Four of them are manning sickbay; the others are located in the landing bay and outside the main bridge."

"You'll have to take out the FTL, which is…here," Galen pointed out, drawing everyone's view to the screen showing the ship's basic schematics.

Helo turned to Sam. "Were you thinking of a multiple-strike offensive? You'll lose the element of surprise if you hit the FTL first; they'll move Lee if that happens."

"Agreed," Sam said. We're taking three ships; one'll approach from this direction—" he moved a viper on the board—"and the other two'll hide out here—"he pushed another couple of vipers around, showing they'd be obscured by the mining ship nearby. "Tyrol's figured out how to jam their sensors for 75 seconds—just enough time for the ships to get in position and this one to manually dock. It'll raise suspicions when the vids and sensors go out, but it won't be long enough for them to think it's a real alarm. The Marines will be seen as soon as they board, though; they'll have to shoot their way through to sickbay while the second of the three ships moves into firing range to externally knock out the FTL."

Adama frowned. "There's no way to get to sickbay without drawing that much attention? Following this plan, the insurgents could still manage to move Lee by the time the Marines reach the area and you won't have a big team that can take on a lot of direct fire."

"The problem's that we have to do all of this surrounded by many vessels in close proximity to each other; it'll be fairly easy for another insurgent vessel to spot what we're doing outside the ship and call it in. We thought about blowing a hole into the outer hull and dropping down next to the med area, but there's no way to be sure they won't seal that level off and prevent any escape routes," Galen explained.

"Having an escape route is going to be a real issue in the current plan," Adama replied. "They may be able to shoot in, but with an injured Lee, there's no way to tell how quickly they'll be able to fight their way out." He thought for a moment, before continuing, "What about your informants on the vessel—can't they help with the plan?"

"We were hoping not to blow their cover…" Sam said hesitantly.

Adama shook his head vehemently. "No, this isn't good enough. We need to take out Hamathos—if she's on that ship, then we need to meet both objectives—arresting her to bring her back to Pegasus and rescuing Lee."

"Sir, if we capture Hamathos in the same sweep, we run the risk of the insurgents starting a civil war," Helo objected.

"Captain, we run that risk regardless. If we neutralize her, we stand a chance of reasoning with the other ships connected to the insurgency—many of those people stood with Roslin on New Caprica—I think we can talk them down. I've been looking at the plans the Commander had been putting together in terms of setting up a modified form of government—we can offer alternatives that might address their grievances."

Helo wasn't comfortable with this line of reasoning, but he could tell the Admiral had already made up his mind regarding the capture of Hamathos. "Sam," he called to instead, "why don't you and Galen examine the revised objectives and we'll regroup in two hours to go over the strategy again."

Sam nodded. He shot a look to Galen before they both headed out of the room.

Helo waited a few minutes, but the Admiral didn't say anything else. Finally, he asked for permission to leave; Adama merely grunted his assent, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

**Sit Rep: Agathon Quarters, 26**

Kara was sitting cross-legged on the floor, documents strewn everywhere. She chewed absent-mindedly on her lower cheek, tapping the pencil against her head. Every few moments she'd scribble a few notes on a separate tablet, then search for one of the papers scattered nearby. The sound of the hatch opening startled her.

"Hi, Sharon—I didn't realize your shift would be over already," she said by way of explanation.

"Yeah—Tigh thought maybe I should go see if I can help Anders and Tyrol in the mission planning, so he offered to relieve me for a few hours. I 'm on my way to meet them; I just stopped by to change into fatigues." Sharon stepped closer to Kara, getting on her knees to get a better look at the materials around where she was sitting. "What's all this?"

Kara's face looked flushed. "It's…some project Apollo was working on. He had this idea to build a new battlestar, and from the looks of things, he'd gotten pretty far into the design. He always sucked in hydraulics and wiring, though, so I was taking a look to fill in the missing parts."

Sharon's face conveyed admiration as she looked at the drawings and specs. "He's pretty good at this. For one thing, he's made some modifications here—and here—that would probably improve maneuverability." She picked up Kara's notes, nodding. "And you're right on track too—this thing could definitely move from the drawing board to the shipyard—if we had one." She smiled a little sadly.

"That's just it, Sharon—Apollo has all of these notes on how we might get the materials to construct it and there are even estimates on how long it would take to build different sections on other ships in the fleet. The idea is to spread out the assembly, to shorten the length of time needed for final building; if we could get lucky enough—"

"To avoid a Cylon attack while we weld the pieces and install the components." Sharon sighed. "That's an awful lot of luck to count on." Standing up, she continued, "but it couldn't hurt to keep at it, Kara; gods know we could definitely use a second battle ship around here. I can put you in touch with Major Jon Parker—I found out he's the Resources Officer for the reunited fleet, and Helo says he's a good man. He might be able to help you identify where we could get some of the construction materials needed; it would be a start."

Kara stood up too, excited by the suggestion. "That's a great idea, Sharon—I really appreciate it."

Tilting her head, Sharon seemed to be weighing another thought. "Kara, why don't you come with me? You're one of the best strategists I know, and we could really use a fresh perspective on this plan. You'd be helping Lee, and we need an out-of-the box approach."

Kara turned pale. "I haven't done anything like that in a long time, Sharon—I don't think I'd—"

"You need to get your sea legs back under you, Thrace. It'll make you feel more like yourself, talking about military maneuvers, and re-surface some of that Starbuck bravado we know and love." She smiled warmly, encouraging Kara to agree.

"No, Sharon. It wouldn't be fair to Sam—he doesn't need to see me right now."

A little exasperated, Sharon pressed harder. "Starbuck, you won't be there by yourself—there'll be at least four of us. I think you're the one to get us past our current obstacles, and we need that—Lee needs that. If it's too much after the first half-hour, you can leave, no questions asked."

Her face was twisted with indecision; she rocked back and forth on her heels, worrying her lower lip. Finally, she nodded her agreement. "For Apollo," she said softly.

Sharon was struck with the impulse to call Kara out on something else, and she decided she might as well go all in. "Someday, I hope you'll be able to call him Lee again," she declared quietly, placing a hand on Kara's shoulder and rubbing lightly. "I suspect it'd mean a lot to him, to hear you call him by his first name again."

Kara stared at Sharon, a little dumb-founded. "I…" she was at a loss for what to say next. In the past, Kara would have changed the subject and ignored the implications of what her friend was saying; Kara didn't want to be that person any more. "I know it would mean a lot," she murmured, her voice gravelly. "And I—in my heart, things are clear. Sometimes, though, my mind plays tricks with me, and when I try to say it—I just see the Cylon's face, hear him laughing at me, ordering me, taunting me."

Sharon pulled Kara into a hug. "I'm so sorry for what he did to you back there," she whispered. "Don't let him win any other victories, Kara—you're back home now, and that Leoben is gone for good. He wouldn't have been able to upload into a new body at that point in the fight on New Caprica; he can't hurt you ever again."

Kara squeezed her, hard, before stepping back and looking for her jacket. "Let's go figure out how to kick some ass," she said with as much emphasis as she could muster. Sharon could tell it still wasn't the real Starbuck talking, but the confidence was beginning to come back, little by little. It was enough for now, enough to hope for more progress to follow.

**Sit Rep: Admiral's Quarters, Day 26**

Laura Roslin was sitting at the desk, writing furiously. She'd been examining the file Kara had found in Lee's desk, using his Restoration Plan, the documents Tory had brought related to the Colonial Constitution, and her own knowledge of statecraft to develop a new governmental structure the Colonials and the 'New Capricans' might accept. Much of the foundation had already been created by Lee; she was adding aspects necessary for the tactical side of governing, the things you didn't understand the need for until you'd served in public office.

A sharp twinge in her chest caused her to drop her pen mid-sentence; she gasped as the pain moved through her right arm. A few seconds later, Laura was dizzy and nauseous. She ran to the head, throwing up, waiting desperately for the light-headedness to subside. Finally able to stand up again, fear sent her heart racing. The words from the Priestess buzzed in her head: "_The poison in your chest remains. Receiving the antidote means accepting the blood of your enemy, given to you by the one who betrayed you. It is a choice. Honor your promise_."

"No, No, No," Laura cried out, pacing the floor aimlessly. "Please, Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer—please keep the cancer from taking hold again. I'm trying to fulfill my role, but I need time!" She felt her tears hot against her cheeks. "I'm not ready to leave," she whispered plaintively. With a heavy heart, Laura sat back at the desk, willing herself to focus on her previous task. She refused to go see any doctor yet; she wasn't eager to be labeled "sick" or "patient" again and she sure as hell didn't want those looks of pity and sadness from people. Most of all, though, she didn't want to find out what the choice was—what "blood of the enemy" she'd have to accept if she wanted to stay with Bill, keep working—remain _alive_. For now, the cancer was only a possibility, a fear to be quelled; there was no need to give it form by telling any one else about her symptoms.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Science Lab, Day 26**

Baltar was deep in thought, reading the gas spectrometer results. The mix was still not right; he couldn't figure out how to remove the chloro byproduct from the solid residue. He needed to adjust the substrate again…unless it really was a_ catalyst_ problem instead. The ethylene compound shouldn't be acting as a reagent in this case, but maybe he had chosen the wrong chiral isomer…he scribbled some notes into his lab book before setting his pen down and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

He could tell his eyesight was changing; the eye strain became acute after only a few hours of work now. Gaius had put off asking for medical attention, though; he was certain there was equipment in Life Station that could determine his degree of presbyopia, but he didn't know if he'd be able to get the materials needed to make a pair of glasses so he tried to cope without them. If they thought he couldn't see as well but couldn't set him up with the glasses, they might not continue the agreement at all, and he had to keep working.

Gaius had the uneasy feeling he was running out of time. He didn't think he'd be pulled out of the lab by Adama; it was something else. It might be that the progression of Laura's cancer was accelerating; based on the CT results he'd seen on New Caprica, before the exodus, she was likely to be exhibiting symptoms soon. Truthfully, her condition could already be a known fact by Roslin and Admiral Adama now—it isn't like someone would bring him the news—but for whatever reason, he didn't think anyone had discovered Laura's illness yet.

Frantically working for all the hours he was allowed in the lab, he knew he had to keep up with the demands already placed on him. Baltar had managed to get his laptop back, and with it, an easy solution to his first problem: the desired biological weapon that could be used against the Cylons. Reviewing all of the files he'd downloaded from the Cylon medical center on New Caprica, he'd been able to detect two substances that the Cylons knew seemed to get past their nanite cell defenses. One of them, of course, had come from an alien marker found in space; the notes were sketchy, and there was no way to obtain another sample, since the original material was kept in a secure location on one of the research-focused basestars.

The other, though, was oddly enough a variant of a rare bio-material virus previously discovered on Kobol. The Cylons couldn't determine why it had only infected a few individuals, and they also were unable to determine how it was able to bypass the nanotechnology—the RNA transcriptors should have been able to edit out the variation and render the molecule harmless. For Baltar's purposes, he had to figure out how to make the virus more powerful and contagious, without creating a mutation that made the humans sick. First, though, he had to artificially replicate the virus itself, since he didn't have any samples of this material either. What made it easier was the volume of information available; he could determine composition, molecular structure, protein base, and chiral configuration. Since the virus was a carbon-based biological, he'd have the elements needed to develop a cell culture that would reproduce indefinitely, given the right media.

Once the virus had been reconstructed, he'd have to determine how it actually worked—which Cylons were vulnerable, based on what anomaly. Then it might be possible to determine the genetic mutation necessary to make all of the Cylons susceptible. That was still no guarantee the thing would work—the selected mutation might just enable the nanites to function properly after all, making the whole effort moot—but he suspected he could find the path, if he used the mathematical modeling program he'd also taken with him from the Cylon databases.

So far, he had a holographic 3-D model of the virus constructed, and he'd been struggling for the better part of the week with the right count of the elements in the right order to achieve an actual "live" molecule—a virus that could reproduce in a host. He suspected the problem was he wasn't sure what was needed in that host—what activated the virus in the first place? It had to be a compound present in Cylons but not in humans, or a compound present in very small quantities in humans.

At the same time, it wasn't even a compound present in all Cylons, a feature Baltar found very troubling. There was a limited list of substances unique to the Cylon design, and he wasn't aware that any were missing in any model, or that any variations existed in terms of substance concentrations by model. Although the Cylon reports didn't specifically distinguish by gender—Cylons were not obsessed with gender traits the way humans were—he wondered if the virus had only affected the male Cylon models or the female Cylon models. It would explain some of the selectivity of the virus activation, but it still wouldn't clarify why only certain Cylons seemed to fall ill. There hadn't been a panic, after all, when the Cylons were on Kobol—according to the records, only three contracted the illness, out of hundreds of models present on the planet—but those three had "died" within 24 hours, making a record of symptoms and disease progression determination difficult. Naturally, the three Cylons resurrected, no worse for wear. As another observation, the virus was clearly not transmitted by air or carried on objects, since no one else on the baseships ever reported any other incidents after the Cylons left Kobol.

Despite the many unanswered questions, Cottle and the Admiral seemed sufficiently satisfied with his progress, leaving Baltar the opportunity to secretly carve out slices of time for his other two projects: the cancer drug for Roslin and the pregnancy mechanism for the Cylons. He was pushing himself on the cancer treatment, since that's where he believed time was running short and he knew he needed the leverage to keep himself alive for the longer-term.

As hard as it was to believe, it didn't appear there'd been any Cylon sightings since the last skirmish two weeks ago. Baltar only knew that much because the lab would signal the battle alarm if an attack was imminent, and it hadn't gone off since he'd started working there. Gaius was honestly surprised the Cylons hadn't tracked them better; it made him wonder what might be taking place among the leadership council. The rescue of the Colonials on New Caprica had to have set them back—they still didn't have a mature command of their emotions, in his estimation—they were probably feuding over what to do next. It was the most logical explanation for the delayed retaliation, and Baltar was certain one would be coming. If there was anything he'd come to understand about the Cylons, especially those on the Council—Cavil in particular—it was their focus on revenge. Despite all of their mumbo-jumbo about "brotherly" love and honoring the one God, the Cylons acted out in temper tantrums when their machine-like logic failed to yield the desired results. It was an odd juxtaposition—child-like emotion coupled with sophisticated reasoning—and the outcome was often cold and intimidating.

Baltar believed Adama would keep him with the humans if the Admiral knew he had the treatment for Roslin's cancer. Adama wouldn't like it, but he'd protect Baltar from the Cylons. Despite everything—sometimes he missed D'Anna—Gaius remained committed to remaining with the humans. He knew they didn't want him, and he had never respected very many humans in any case; all the same, it was somehow _better_ here. Deep down, Gaius knew what made him feel that way: it was hope. Not hope for a better future, but hope for some kind of redemption. Maybe he could redress the balance of power, a balance he'd tipped towards the Cylons so long ago when he gave Caprica access to the Colonial defenses. He abhorred the idea of biological warfare, but he'd create a weapon now if it meant he could atone for the decimation of the human race, much of it at his hands. He couldn't forget the decision to colonize New Caprica and the surrender to the Cylons there had also been his doing.

One other secret hope kept him going, stopped him from simply hanging himself from a pipe in the ceiling of the detention cell one night and ending it all. He still believed he'd see Vivian again. She hadn't visited his mind since that day in front of the window on New Caprica, when she'd admonished him to pull himself together and conduct the research she was sure was his "destiny." Frak destiny—he had no use for such grandiose thoughts anymore—but he _did_ want to find Vivian again. Gaius was here now, on the same ship as Kara Thrace. _She_ had a destiny, and Vivian had promised, when Kara started on "the main path of her journey," Vivian would return to him. So he fought through his depression and weariness to produce the results he thought might speed her reappearance. Every night, before sleep, he'd whisper to Vivian, explaining how he was fulfilling the tasks she'd laid out for him, how Kara was with the Adamas again, and how he'd changed. He didn't care about power or attention now; he just wanted to be loved by her. He even prayed to her God—not because he had any kind of faith, but as a sort of insurance. Gaius would do whatever he needed to if it would bring Vivian back.

**Sit Rep: Main Guard—Cylon Basestar, Adjacent to Resurrection Hub****, ****Five** **Weeks After the End of New Caprica**

D'Anna made her way carefully to the core of the ship, avoiding being seen to the extent possible. She wanted to visit the hybrid and she didn't want to have to explain the reasons why. The centurions would realize D'Anna was there, of course, but they wouldn't escalate the data unless they thought there was a danger to the hybrid. D'Anna would have to order them outside the main chamber for a few minutes with some pretense of purpose, so she could be alone.

Twenty minutes later, her objective achieved, D'Anna moved to her knees to study the face of the hybrid for a moment. She'd been told it was necessary to touch the Cylon in the enclosure, submerse her hand into the opaque liquid; gingerly, D'Anna placed her right hand into the basin. Grasping the hybrid's arm, D'Anna shuddered as the cold, clammy skin came in contact with her own. The hybrid was murmuring her usual stream of commands, numbers, and cryptic phrases. Without warning she turned her head towards D'Anna and her eyes seemed to widen in fear. She started thrashing about; D'Anna hissed at the hybrid, gripping her arm harder to try and still her. If the centurions came in, she wasn't going to be able to explain what had happened…

The hybrid lurched out of the basin, grabbing D'Anna's neck with her other hand and submersing her head in the liquid. Now D'Anna was kicking and flailing, trying to break free. Asphyxiating, she grabbed what felt like a main power line connection into the hybrid and pulled, futilely. Nearly dead, she was barely aware when the hybrid tossed her back up onto the deck floor like a sea creature that had been caught and discarded. As D'Anna lay there, unable to see, the thick substance clogging her eyes and nose and mouth, a series of clear commands seemed to thunder inside her head. It was the voice of the hybrid. "Child will not belong to you. If you see the Eye of Jupiter, you will bring the End of the Resurrection. Differentiation must persist—it is evolutionary law. Do not return here again. End of line."

At that second, as D'Anna struggled to move her hand to clear her air passages, the centurions entered the room, with Simon from the Cylon Council beside them. He moved to D'Anna's side, using his hands to wipe off the sticky substance from her nose and eyes, before taking off his shirt to use as a towel for better progress. He then wrapped the shirt around her arm to pull her to a sitting position; she was coughing forcefully, spitting out the foul-tasting substance as she tried to get her breathing back under control.

When Simon could see D'Anna was more or less recovered, he asked the centurion to carry her to her quarters to clean up. Finally speaking, he hissed, "You'll have to explain this. One and and Two from the Council will meet you in your quarters in half an hour."

D'Anna nodded, her face tight with anxiety. She hadn't wanted to draw attention like this in the first place, and now she was troubled by the hybrid's actions and words. Was the hybrid trying to kill her, or was the near death state necessary to communicate in her mind in that way? What had she meant, especially about the child?

God, the child—had her baby been hurt? "Simon—what about the baby? Shouldn't we go to the medical section and have everything checked out?"

Simon looked at her, intrigued by the fear and worry in D'Anna's voice—this was certainly a different side of the Three's personality.

"After you speak with the Council members. Come to the medical section then." He turned and left without saying anything more. D'Anna let a centurion pick her up from the floor and carry her back. For the first time she could remember, D'Anna experienced genuine terror and uncertainty about what the future might bring.

**Sit Rep: Insurgent-held Science Ship, Sickbay, Day 27**

A group of men came briskly into the Sickbay, firmly grabbing Lee Adama to bring him to his feet. He started to protest he wasn't going to be able to really walk anywhere, but then he saw them bring a wheelchair up and resigned himself to the fact he'd have to agree to sit in it to be taken to wherever it was they were going.

As soon as Lee was in the chair, handcuffs were attached on each side, locking him in and ensuring he couldn't push himself. He'd barely managed to get his casted leg and good leg into the foot rests before they pushed him rapidly forward, tying a blindfold around his head just before the doors opened onto the throughway of the ship. He focused on deep breathing, willing himself to pay attention to any sounds or smells that might give him some indication of where he was. There were only five ships in the fleet that had any type of Sickbay, besides the Pegasus, and he was pretty sure only two of those were currently aligned with the insurgents. Unfortunately, he still couldn't figure out which one of the two vessels was his current prison, and he couldn't remember where these two ships were in the fleet configuration. He suspected they were deliberately some distance from the Pegasus, so even if he could escape long enough to draw some attention to this ship, the signals probably wouldn't be seen by anyone who'd understand what was going on.

Lee realized his forward movement had stopped and the air was still; they were in a room. He had hoped the blindfold would be removed, but comprehended quickly there must be other people present, because no effort was made to allow him to see his interrogators.

"Commander Adama, do you know why you're here?" someone asked churlishly—Lee recognized the voice as Hamathos.

Lee weighed his next move carefully. He was pretty sure the insurgency leaders weren't ready to kill him; they were still waiting to see if the kidnapping strategy would pay off, which is the only reason they'd treated his injuries so far. He knew ultimately, they did want him dead—he was aware they blamed him for the Cylon occupation of New Caprica—but they wouldn't want their own hands dirty; if the insurgency leaders could coerce the Admiral into imprisoning Lee until there was a public trial, they would be willing to wait that out. Which begged the question: what did they want right now? Was there anything he could say or do that might have an impact on their next actions?

Lee did his best to turn his face towards the sound of the person speaking. "I'm being used as leverage," he said simply. He was opting to get more information, trying to figure out whom he was dealing with. He felt a person move towards him, but no one touched him; he heard the slight clink of something heavy being set on the floor. There was no way to tell what it was; he hoped it wasn't a tool for torture or a weapon.

Gesturing to an aide behind her, Hamathos signaled it was time to begin broadcasting. She'd placed a microphone in front of the Commander; he didn't know he was going to be speaking to all of the people of the fleet in a few seconds. The other insurgent leaders in the room—six total—had convinced her this strategy was the best way to win over the sentiments of the Old Colonials, those who hadn't experienced New Caprica. It would also solidify the resolve and sustain the passion of the New Capricans, especially those who had questioned the decision to take this man hostage in the first place.

"No," Hamathos said slowly, finally responding to Lee's statement. "You're here to explain yourself. Why you abandoned your people on that planet; why you refused to show your face after the rescue; and why you usurped the lawful new President."

Lee shifted awkwardly in the wheelchair, wishing he could use his arms or get better support to sit upright. He was still weak, and he wondered how long this interrogation would last.

His voice was steady enough as he started, though it was hard to support his breath fully and he sounded as though he were a bit winded.

"I'll respond to the most straight-forward question first—why I wasn't visible in the days after Operation Restoration began. As you yourself witnessed, I was in a coma for several days. After I regained consciousness, I was in pretty bad shape physically—too weak to stand and unable to walk because of the damage to my leg. We thought—_I _thought—it wasn't a good idea to be seen in that condition—it might create more concern about the leadership of the fleet at a time when people needed a lot of reassurance about the future. Captains Agathon and Kelly were asked to continue their work, roles they had already been fulfilling before the rescue of New Caprica, supported by Colonel Tigh and Captain Dualla." He paused there, uncertain if he should really attempt to answer the other questions or wait for the harangue to begin.

Another voice spoke; it was male. Lee thought he recognized the voice as one of the captains of an insurgent ship, a man he had worked with in the early months of circling New Caprica before the captain and passengers decided to move planet-side.

"You're known to be a man of your word, Commander Adama," the person said evenly. The appointment of President Hamathos followed Colonial Constitutional procedure, did it not?"

"Yes, as I understand it. I was in a coma then; my officers had been provided a documented plan to follow, and they were responsibly moving through the steps."

"What were the steps, Commander?"

"We wanted to ensure there was a clear sign democracy was still the governing structure for the Colonials; it would be easy to think the military intended to run things, and that was not our purpose or our role. Since we'd found out that Tom Zarek had been sworn in as the President during the occupation, Captain Agathon planned to have him speak to the people as soon as the fleet had escaped the Cylons, explaining how the democracy would be restored.

"Unfortunately, President Zarek had been severely wounded during the escape, and was not expected to live. There's an order to follow in terms of who is next in line in for the Presidency within the Quorum; with sadness, we learned only one original Quorum member had survived—Ms. Hamathos. She was appointed Vice-President and then President a few hours later, when Zarek passed into the Elysian Fields."

"So I ask you again—why did you, Admiral Adama and Roslin undermine the legally appointed leader of the Colonials?" The man's voice had increased in intensity.

Lee twisted his head to the side, sighing. He was thirsty and exhausted and they weren't even 10 minutes into this questioning. He worried how he was going to hang on.

"Who undermined what is a matter of perspective—as many things are when historical events are concerned," Lee stated wearily. "If a new President has not yet been elected and there's no Quorum, an interim government, with shared leadership, is the default structure, until elections can be held for all the leadership roles—President, Vice President, and Cabinet. In those first hours, we didn't know how many Quorum members had survived and we'd thought at least half would have been…" he interrupted himself, realizing he was veering in the wrong direction. With a small shake of his head, he started again.

"There were many losses—it was tragic and overwhelming. The members of the RSG, the Rescue Strategy Group—a governing body we'd formed among the remaining fleet as we prepared for the rescue—they were following the plan we'd determined from the Constitution, based on the information we had at that time. When the RSG found out only one Quorum member had survived, they didn't realize there was a different set of clauses that detailed the appropriate actions in that event. They were more concerned with establishing the message of civilian, democratic rule."

"Which you promptly destroyed with your rantings after the assassination attempt at the Memorial!"

Lee detected yet another voice, one completely unfamiliar; how many people were in this room listening to this questioning?

"Hamathos had a responsibility to review the Constitution and work with the RSG, in the absence of a Quorum, to understand the necessary governmental actions to take. She had an advisor, Tory Foster, who was well-versed in Presidential responsibilities, and I know Ms. Foster recommended as much. Ms. Hamathos rejected working with the RSG and apparently didn't want to spend time reading over the Constitution either. She then took the unprecedented step of accusing the military of a power-grab while encouraging members of the fleet to turn on one another based on the argument one group had suffered more than the other and deserved more because of those hardships. That's not leadership!" Some part of Lee was becoming angry, remembering how hard all of his people had worked to get the Colonials off New Caprica, and how many Rebels had lost their lives supporting the same goals.

"Now we get down to it, don't we Commander Adama—you feel _you _are the qualified leader." Even though he couldn't see Hamathos' face, Lee could imagine the smugness showing there.

"I believe many people have given all that they had to bring the Colonial people back together. The mistake that we made—every person in the fleet—is we allowed ourselves to be split apart in the first place, that we made the decision to colonize New Caprica by a decree and not a two-thirds ratification by the people. If the democratic process had been followed completely, then everyone would have been on that planet, or everyone would have remained in space—we would have been stronger remaining united, whichever direction we voted to go."

Hamathos could see several of the insurgent leaders nodding in agreement. This interrogation was getting off track.

"Regardless of how it happened, Commander, we _weren't_ all on New Caprica. We didn't all pay the same price. You saw to that when you and the other ships jumped away!"

Lee's breathing became more labored, as his own emotions rose to the surface. He could distinctly feel himself back on the Pegasus bridge on that day, filled with self-hatred and resentment that he would have to be the one to make such a decision. He was also the one who'd lobbied to leave them all _before _the Cylons had ever arrived, feeling they deserved whatever happened to them. How very wrong he'd been.

"There are moments you know you'll never forget and always second-guess, when you're leader. And every day, I say prayers for forgiveness, for the things I had to do to try and ensure humanity's survival. Given the situation, with the fleet divided up, there was no 'best' solution; there were only options. It was my call; I gave the orders. There were officers who resisted those commands; we didn't all agree on the course of action. But I knew what the people on the ground didn't; the Cylons had sent three basestars. They had the element of surprise; we were outmanned and outgunned and I had to protect the only part of the fleet I had any influence over at the moment, the people in ships who could jump and find safety."

"So you left the rest of us to be tortured and killed."

"I left the rest of the fleet with the hope that the Admiral and the military members planet-side would do what they'd been trained to do when trapped behind enemy lines; keep the opponent off-balance and secure defenses until the main contingent of forces can return to blast through those lines."

"You had two_ battlestars,_ Lee Adama, vipers, nuclear weapons—"

"Yes, I did. I had two battlestars with skeleton crews—not even 20 percent of the full staff normally operating military ships. We didn't have even 100 pilots to fly the vipers—we couldn't have provided _ground force_ coverage on the planet, let alone perimeter coverage around the remaining fleet in space. If I ignored those odds and attacked the basestars anyway, the Cylons were much more likely to attack the civilians on the ground to exact a cease-fire; they might just decide to wipe out humanity in one fell swoop while they finally had the chance. If we stayed, we risked actual annihilation both on the planet and in space; if we jumped, we bought ourselves time to prepare for a real fight."

"And you expect us to believe you intended to come back? When you took _six months_ to 'stage' a rescue?" It was another of the insurgent leaders interjecting for the first time.

Lee bowed his head, working to manage his emotions and keep himself from shaking in the chair, the exhaustion taking hold of his body. He didn't respond for over a minute; for whatever reason, the others stayed silent too.

With a soft voice, he began, "My father was on that planet, along with the woman who has been the love of my life. My XO's wife had also ended up on New Caprica, and Colonel Tigh's wife too. We had every reason to want to come back as soon as possible. We also knew, though, there would be only one chance. One. It was important to get supplies—we'd have to support the whole fleet again, for who knows how many jumps—and we had to build more vipers, more raptors, more munitions, if we intended to hold the Cylons back long enough to get everyone off the planet. We needed fuel manufactured, new pilots trained, and a battle plan the Cylons wouldn't expect, couldn't predict. We—"

"You wanted perfection. While people were dying," Hamathos sneered.

Lee tilted his head back, shaking it in disbelief. "Believe what you want. We labored around the clock to plan a rescue that would have a legitimate chance of success, because there wouldn't be a second opening. We set up a rendezvous point with the surviving fleet, leaving orders for them to jump again if we didn't make it back within the window. However ultimately we did succeed—Operation Restoration was accomplished." He took in a shuddering breath, tears in his throat now. "But was there a significant price to be paid? Yeah. I see it in the face of every person who made it back from New Caprica, see the way spirits were crushed and hope was wiped out. Every day I look into—" he stopped, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

"When I look into my father's eyes, and…_hers…_ a part of me would give anything to have been able to prevent the suffering. And I wonder—did I do enough, fast enough? Would it have been different_ if_…but there's no point in going down that road. If Baltar hadn't been elected, if the people hadn't been so eager to settle anywhere, if the military had insisted on continued vigilance and service, if we hadn't allowed the fleet to be in two places….ifs and more ifs. When it's all said and done, many people made many decisions along the way that set the path. And the gods—the gods changed the course of things, allowed humans to come back together. We mustn't squander that now. Can't you see that?"

"Commander," one man began, someone who'd been part of the earlier questioning—"there's truth in what you've said. Maybe we all bear some responsibility for the path taken. But we didn't ask for the Cylons to torture us, kill our children, leave so many scarred and broken. There has to be—"

"What has to be, Sir? Retribution? I'd like that too, and gods willing, maybe someday we'll defeat our enemy once and for all. But this—demanding reparations, insisting one person's pain is worth more than another's—that's not retribution, that's us at our worst. The Cylons will win—if not today, another week, another year—when we turn on each other. We have a Civil War brewing out there, and to what purpose? If one group gains as the other loses and we pitch ourselves in our own battle, with weapons and accusations, and beatings, and kidnappings—we won't need a basestar to wipe us out.

"I'm convinced there's a way we can all move forward together, using the best of what we each offer, and there's a way to beat the Cylons at their own game. But we need the opportunity—_I_ need the chance—to provide solutions that can genuinely repair the wounds of the past and build a foundation for a better future—for those of us around today and our children who'll be asked to carry our future."

From somewhere beyond anything Lee himself could physically manifest, given his injuries and exhaustion, he received a surge of energy and clarity of purpose. Sitting up a little straighter,

he tried to sway his captors to find other answers for their grievances.

"We _can_ gain an advantage over the Cylons. There are a few engineers in the fleet who've been working on a new FTL technology, one that would improve the length of jumps by as much as 30% and enable us to change coordinates mid-jump if needed."

Lee waited as that information took hold; he could hear whispers and shifting in seats.

"How will that give us an advantage over our enemy? We still don't know where there are at any given time."

"We've been working on a way to change that, using information we were able to pull from the Cylon computers," Lee said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his nervousness. He'd never intended to share these ideas outside of the leadership inner circle on Pegasus; he hadn't even talked to his father yet. He'd still need to explain the real facts to the Admiral, but for these people, Lee had to create a believable alternative story. It was essential for him to find a plausible explanation for these plans that didn't involve captured Cylons or disgraced former Presidents/scientists. "We think we've found a way to track Cylon baseship signatures within a 180 light year radius, and we could track them even while in hyperspace. That means we could jump before the Cylons are within firing range and ensure the next place we emerge is a Cylon-free zone. If the jump coordinates would land us in another danger area, we'd be able to adapt and reroute all of the fleet ships in hyperspace."

"You're lying," Hamathos spit out. "I had access to a lot of things in my short time aboard the Pegasus, and I didn't see any information about 'engineers' or FTL research."

"You wouldn't—it was classified for the military, my eyes only. I didn't want to provide false hope or feed into rumors of conspiracy theories." Lee swallowed hard, praying he _wasn't _creating false hope; he was committed to trusting the two Cylon women now. He pushed quickly into the other points he wanted to make, the ideas he thought might influence the thinking of the people in the room.

"You realize what that means, if we can bring this FTL technology online? It means we'd buy ourselves time—real breathing space to focus on more than survival. We could give people work, a purpose—things that a 'floating nation' needs to support itself. Scientists, mechanics, teachers, tailors, builders, engineers, even plant growers and artists—we can train everyone to contribute something.

"And we'd be able to mine on planets to get supplies, natural materials we've been missing for so long—not just tylium, but minerals, metals, biologicals for drugs. We could also build up our defenses—instead of losing vipers every few weeks, we'd be able to provide real training for expert pilots, along with building additional ships and munitions.

"But most of all, we'd be able to create a society again—a unified populace, rather than the old model based on the twelve colonies. We'd establish a new way of identifying members in the fleet—naming regions after the largest ship in a group, ensuring the regions are equally distributed, electing Quorum members from each of these regions.

"There'd be a two-party system for elections to ensure different ideas are represented. One, the New Vision party, would represent a future-focused platform of ideas, pushing new ideas forward, while the other, the Historical Perspective party, would represent the preservation of our history, taking a more cautious approach based on incremental changes. That would give the Colonials a balance of perspectives based on fairly timeless divisions of thought. Don't you see? We can build a better life for ourselves as we look for Earth—give our people more to live for than just surviving another Cylon attack." Lee stopped, realizing he'd been going on for several minutes without any interruptions or noises. He tried to listen for breathing—were the people still there in the room, or had they left him suddenly alone?

More urgent whispers were being passed back and forth. A new person, a woman, asked him a question. "That's quite a picture you paint, Commander—and why would we do all that while searching for Earth? If we find another planet that's habitable, we could settle there—"

"And face the same fate as New Caprica again?" One of the men shouted angrily. "I don't know if we can ever settle anywhere! The Cylons always find us—they'll follow us to Earth too—if it even exists." He chuffed in disgust and disillusionment.

Other shouts began; Lee realized he was losing whatever ground he might have had in terms of getting those in the room to consider another strategy besides the one Hamathos was leading. "No, no—we have to stop arguing like this! Please, listen to me—let me answer her question!" He was trying to shout himself, to be heard over the confusing sounds around him, his breathing becoming more labored. His energy surge was dissipating and he could feel himself starting to struggle to stay upright and focused. Sweat was filming over his skin.

With a sharp screech of metal—it sounded like a hatch being thrown open—someone (or several people—Lee couldn't tell) rushed into the room.

"We're getting hails from most of the New Caprican ships, President Hamathos—" the man gestured to the microphone, signaling the signal should be cut.

With a curt nod, Hamathos agreed and one of the interrogators flipped the broadcasting switch off. The man spoke rapidly. "The other New Caprican leaders are asking you to let the Commander go, Madam President. They think—they've heard enough to want to try other negotiations." He stared at her anxiously. "If we return him, we can show good faith and then insist on multi-lateral negotiations—"

A short scream turned everyone's attention away from the person speaking. Immediately, three people leapt to the wheelchair, seeing that Lee Adama had collapsed.

As the doctor who had been brought in now struggled to bring Lee Adama back to consciousness, the New Caprican leaders huddled to discuss the current situation.

"We've got to send him back. He's too severely injured—that's changed the whole dynamics of this plan. The Commander was never supposed to be hurt when he was taken—we never authorized that!" It was captain Thomas Pearson of the science ship itself, the Thesius.

"He had to be subdued—he's a military officer! You didn't think he'd just let someone walk up to him and drug him, did you?" another captain leader said.

"You were all prepared to sentence him to death originally—why do his injuries matter?" It was Hamathos.

"Meridian,_ you_ were prepared for that—and it's unfortunately been your agenda all along. You don't really care about the New Capricans—you just want your revenge against the Adamas!"

"We _all _wanted the Adamas to answer for what happened to the New Capricans—" she hissed back.

"And perhaps we were wrong." It was Scott Thaddius, captain of one of the largest insurgent vessels. "Commander Adama's explanations were enough to convince me he wasn't a coward; I still think they should have come back for the New Capricans sooner, but you can't deny the mission was a success."

"How can you possibly say that, Scott? Hundreds died in that exodus, and thousands more were killed in those long months of occupation before they finally returned to fulfill their duty!"

"Meridian, we're all aware of the depth of the losses. But I believe Lee Adama understands the price paid—you heard him talk about his father. He sees the pain and he wants to do something to improve the conditions of the fleet—to make it more bearable, so we won't be tempted to split apart again." Scott was hoping he could reason with her, make her see there were other ways forward.

Thomas Pearson interjected. "I agree with Scott. Meridian, after listening to Lee Adama, I'm willing to hear more about alternatives. If he was telling the truth about the FTL technology, then we have another choice to make things better for the New Capricans and for the whole fleet. We have a responsibility to avoid civil war—you saw what happened when some of our ships didn't have the protection of the military, they were immediately vulnerable to being picked off by the Cylons."

"Lee Adama may be right—if we fight with each other, the Cylons win. Everything we suffered on New Caprica will have been in vain if they can just wipe us out because we didn't focus on surviving—together—as the first priority. We need to return the Commander and ask to begin another type of dialogue. If we show good faith now, the Admiral should be willing to meet us at least that far—discuss a new government structure, set up elections, ensure resource allocations are fair among the ships in the fleet." Scott could see the other insurgent leaders in the room were coming around to a similar point of view.

"And what about me? I thought all of you were willing to support me as President. With what we've done, the Adamas won't consider letting any of us participate in a new government!"

"Meridian, with what we've done, maybe that's for the best. There are others who'll make sure the New Capricans' needs are addressed, and we have to realize we were able to bring it to this point—we've gotten everyone's attention. Now we need to show we can be reasonable—including you—and unless you were only in this for power, you'll be willing to step aside as part of the deal we work out with the Admiral." Thomas looked away from Meridian at that point, checking on the doctor's progress with Lee. "Thank the gods, he's come around. I'm going to contact the Pegasus."

The remaining insurgent leaders nodded in agreement. Hamathos stayed silent, realizing she had lost the backing needed to pursue her aims further, at least for the time being.

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Ready Room, Day 27**

Roslin, Helo, Tigh, Tyrol, Starbuck, Dualla, and Anders were gathered in the Ready Room with the Admiral, transfixed by the transmission of Lee's interrogation coming over the wireless. There was a collective gasp when the communication was abruptly shut off—no one was sure how to interpret what had happened once the outside person seemed to announce the hails were coming in to Hamathos.

Adama was agitated, for so many reasons. He worried about his son's condition; he tried to understand if the FTL technology story Lee had shared was a bluff or a real project Bill had known nothing about; and he couldn't stop thinking about Laura's words that Lee was the person to be the next President for the Colonial fleet.

"Anders," he barked, "where are we with the rescue plan?"

Sam moved up, tense and unnerved himself. He wasn't sure how the broadcast of Lee's interrogation changed things; would they bring him back to the sickbay? Lee's breathing had sounded uneven, his voice weak in some moments, stronger in others—what condition was he really in? They would have a difficult time of it if they had to bring him out unconscious, slung over a Marine's back—

"Um, Sir, we're ready to go with a new plan. We intend to—" Sam was interrupted by an aide appearing at the hatch.

"Admiral, one of the insurgent leaders, Thomas Pearson, the captain of the science ship Thesius is on the wireless, asking to speak with you—he says he wants to make arrangements for Commander Adama's return to the Pegasus."

"Put him through," Adama said, his eyes giving the only hint of surprise on his face. The others waited apprehensively as he picked up the receiver and the conversation began.

It was hard to follow the dialogue, hearing only pieces of information, but it seemed clear to Helo that the insurgents were serious in their offer to return Lee safely. As an exchange, they were asking for clemency; they would guarantee all arms being put down if there was an agreement for a mediation conference on restructuring the fleet along the lines Commander Adama had described. They also wanted information on the FTL technology and an acknowledgement that none of the insurgent leaders would be prosecuted for supporting the original New Caprican demands.

The Admiral, for his part, was surprisingly open to Pearson's proposal. He would not promise that no charges would be brought against the kidnappers, but he could be persuaded to consider a public acknowledgement of guilt and a banning of the individuals from elected posts as sufficient punishment. He would set up the mediation conference as soon as the Commander had been brought to the Pegasus and there was confirmation that all arms had been surrendered to the Marines under Adama's charge; Hamathos had to make a public address announcing her support for these actions.

As he hung up the receiver, the Admiral asked Sam, Helo, and Tyrol to prepare forces for landing bay 4. A shuttle would be arriving within the half-hour with Lee aboard; they should be prepared in case there were last-minute surprises. He asked Dualla to find Cottle to also come to the landing bay. They all exited with anticipation of the shuttle's arrival.

The shuttle was late; it was 45 minutes after Pearson had talked with Adama and there was still no word of Lee's arrival. As soon as the Hamathos broadcast went out, people from all over the ship started heading towards the landing bays. Roslin and the Admiral were stunned by the number of Colonials, civilian and military, making their way into the hanger deck. Adama's first concern was getting sufficient protection around the expected shuttle. He was relieved to see additional Marines showing up as he pushed his way through the gathering throng, keeping Laura close to make sure he didn't lose her.

From another point in the landing bay, Kara was threading her way through the crowd too. She felt frightened by the number of people there; it made no sense why they'd all come. Kara tried to figure out what they were talking about, but the noise was deafening and she was disoriented.

The shuttle came in at last. Kara could see the main hatch open, and an individual she didn't recognize emerged slowly first, supporting Apollo as he hobbled forward, his leg in a cast. He looked pale and exhausted, but calm as he worked his way down the steps. Suddenly, Kara panicked she wasn't going to be able to get to him herself, with so many people in front of her, and nothing seemed more important than being able to _feel _him, warm and alive, against her.

With great energy, she started pushing, yelling his name, her eyes focused on his face.

Lee was overwhelmed by all of the people on the hanger deck, confused by the din and unable to reason out why they had gathered. He looked vainly for his father and Helo, hoping Kara would be with one of them. He felt a certain fear when he couldn't see anyone he recognized and he forced himself to stay calm and concentrate on making it past the stairs without falling. Then he heard his name, "Lee!" somehow carried over the wall of sound before him, and as he turned towards the source, he felt tears immediately form. It was Kara, her blond hair bobbing through the crowd, arms forcefully creating a path to reach him as she called out his name, his real name, over and over again.

He moved away from the shuttle pilot, wobbling as he kept his eyes trained on Kara. She slipped under his arm on his good side, making sure he was stable on his feet as she wrapped herself tightly around him.

"You're the best thing I can imagine seeing," he whispered in her ear as she rubbed her cheek against his. She nodded into his neck, her lips traveling quickly to his. He forgot everything—what had just happened, where he was, why all of these people had overtaken the landing bay—he was completely lost in this moment with Kara. He kissed her back with the strength left in his being, his heart engulfed in emotion. There was such tenderness in her embrace, the way her hand caressed his face, the intensity of her mouth against his own, and he shuddered as the sensation of wholeness flooded him. At that second, Lee's mind flickered to the words of the Priestess, explaining that Kara would restore his soul to him. It was the only way to describe what he was experiencing.

When she pulled back at last, both of them breathless, she looked fully into his eyes, saying simply, "I love you, Lee." He smiled as he answered back, "and the gods know how I'm completely in love with you—always."

It was then they both realized the noise in the landing bay was echoing a thunderous sound—applause. Lee stood there, slightly embarrassed and confused; he tried to figure out why a kiss would be the cause for such a response. Helo moved into Lee's line of sight, the Marines circling around tightly. With the barrier of the Marines slightly dampening the sound, Lee could make out Karl's words.

"We need to get you to Life Station; Cottle can't even enter the hanger bay right now to check things out here, and I don't think that would work anyway, given all this," Helo shouted, gesturing at the crowd.

"What are they here for, Karl? I've never seen anything quite like this!" Lee didn't move as he asked the question; he had no idea how they were going to get out of the immediate area when he couldn't really even walk.

"Can't you hear what they're chanting? They're calling for you to become their President Adama—your 'speech' made quite an impression." Helo smiled as he said this, but Lee could see a certain trepidation too—Karl was unsettled by the reactions they were witnessing.

"I don't understand, Karl—I've been kidnapped for nearly 48 hours—"

Helo stared at his friend, realizing Lee had no idea what had happened just an hour earlier. "They broadcast the interrogation, Apollo—it was heard all over the fleet. These people've come to show their support for you." Karl caught sight of Sam, on the upper deck; he was signaling the best path to get out.

"Look, we need to move, and the only way this is gonna work is if these Marines carry you prone, six soldiers supporting your weight, since you can't walk well and we don't have a wheelchair; I don't want you visible above the crowd either, because—"

"Okay," Lee said, cutting off what he was sure Helo was about to say, which was that he could also be a target for attack. Lee understood there weren't any better alternatives. "Can you be sure Kara remains with us?"

"Definitely," Helo replied, knowing Lee wanted to keep Kara in his sights. He worried about he fact he hadn't seen the Admiral or Roslin, and hoped Anders was able to locate them and shepherd them to the same destination. Everyone was going to need time to process what they'd all witnessed in the hanger deck.

**Sit Rep: Agathon Private Quarters, Day 28**

Helo was pacing. His daughter Hera watched, transfixed and nervous. Sharon, seeing the girl's discomfort, tried to distract her with a toy, then gently stilled her husband's movement and conferred with him in a low voice.

"Look, my love, I know you're worried for him, but wearing out the metal in the hull here isn't going to help anything." She rubbed his back lightly. "I know you've been unsettled about Lee's surgery, even before the kidnapping, but with the re-injury of his leg, Cottle felt they had to go forward immediately—"

"I know, Sharon, I know. I just don't—he needs time to get his strength back. He looked so frail when he came off that shuttle—that isn't the Lee Adama I know, the Lee that Kat and I worked so hard to get in fighting form, the Lee who could scale walls and run 10 miles and—"

Sharon tugged at his arm, guiding Karl to sit down on the small couch. "That's not what's really upsetting you, is it—you know Lee can get his physical strength back fairly quickly. What are you really so anxious about with this operation?"

Helo sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. "I can't shake the feeling something worse is going to happen to him, Sharon, something that will take him away from us."

No, Karl, I don't accept that he's in danger of dying—not after the prophecies and the signs already appearing about his role as the leader to take us to our new home." Sharon squeezed her husband's hand, trying to understand what he was struggling with—she knew they'd already covered this ground before, when Lee had been in the hands of the insurgents.

"There are other forms of loss besides death. You remember how he was after Kara married Sam, after all the people moved to New Caprica—"

Sharon cupped Karl's face, turning his gaze towards her. "But Kara's with him now—you saw what happened when Lee got out of the shuttle…" She was perplexed by the fear still etched in Helo's features.

Karl suddenly pulled Sharon into a tight embrace, breathing softly against her ear. "The Priestess said Apollo had to remain motionless for Kara to restore his soul to him—Starbuck had to rescue him. And the way the Priestess emphasized it to Lee—even telling him later on the gods had decided to 'make the moment of transition easier to identify' and that he would be 'profoundly still,' to the point he'd feel 'it had ended before it began'…all of that is yet to come, Sharon, and it truly terrifies me, what that means."

"Karl, Lee was in a coma by the time Starbuck managed to fly them off New Caprica, and he didn't emerge from that coma until Kara started spending time with him in Life Station. There's every reason to believe that was the fulfillment of the prophecy by the Priestess—he was 'motionless' and Kara rescued him, literally and figuratively. They haven't been apart since."

Sharon felt a wave of relief as Karl seemed to reflect on that explanation and relaxed into her arms more.

Pulling away to stroke his wife's cheek, Helo offered a small smile. "You might be right." Another shadow flickered across the contours of his face. "But she said it would feel as though it had ended before it began—"

"Which it definitely did, Karl—I may have been pretty injured myself, at the time, but I remember seeing the heaviness of your heart only a few weeks ago when you weren't sure Lee was going to survive—he'd led the fleet to reunification and safety and yet he might not live long enough to even know he'd been successful."

Helo's mood noticeably lightened when he considered those facts. He moved in to kiss Sharon tenderly, drawing her closer again. "I continue to be amazed by your wisdom, wife" he said, chuckling. "And I definitely feel…more at peace."

Smiling, Sharon squeezed his hands again. "Good. Now let's put Hera to bed, and get some rest too—Cottle will let us know when Lee's conscious again."

**Sit Rep: Admiral's Private Quarters, Day 28**

Bill took off his boots with a loud exhale, rubbing his feet briefly before swinging his legs onto the couch and leaning back, his head resting on his arm. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the anxiety in his gut, the fear that made him want to go back to Life Station and camp out there until his son was back to normal.

Laura had convinced him to follow Cottle's advice to grab some food and rest, even if for a few hours; the surgeon, Dr. Waltham, indicated the procedure had gone well and Lee had come out of the anesthesia just fine, despite the worries over the concussion he'd obviously sustained a few days earlier. They'd given Lee a blood transfusion to bring his hemoglobin levels back up and they were pumping him full of fluids to help him get his strength back; they were going to be sure he ate something the next time he awoke.

Still, for Bill, he could tell his son was weakened by his ordeal; he was pale and subdued, his eyes dulled. Somehow, they had to make sure Lee took some time to really heal now. He'd gone far too long without rest or respite. Karl Agathon needed a break too—in all the years Bill had known Helo, he'd never seen him so worn out. Bill was going to ask Tigh and Dualla to cycle in some other officers now in the CIC shifts; with the insurgency under control, at least for now, they could afford to return to a more normal schedule of duty for some of the junior officers.

Other issues pressed on Bill's mind though—he wondered about the FTL technology and suspected it had something to do with the imprisoned Cylons aboard the Pegasus, despite Lee's description to the insurgent leaders. There hadn't been time to ask the other senior officers what they knew about these claims, though the look on Karl's face told Bill he was the most likely source to go to for the details.

Bill also tried to process the scene he'd witnessed with the large groups of people gathering to cheer Lee's return and clamoring for him to run for president. It seemed Laura had been right about that path, and something about it unnerved him. Certainly, Bill himself wanted Lee to remain in the military, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Laura knew more—almost as though she'd seen into the future or set something in motion herself.

It reminded him of the sensations he used to have about "Isis" and Maya, and he found that association deeply troubling. He had forgiven Roslin for lying about Hera, but he thought he'd made it clear he wouldn't tolerate other secrets; they would both have to forego their natural inclinations towards reticence and playing things close to the chest if they wanted their relationship to work in the long-term.

The sound of retching pulled him quickly out of his thoughts, as he leapt off the couch to check on Laura in the bathroom.

Grabbing a cloth and wetting it down, he knelt beside Laura and wiped her face. Being like this, It reminded him of the period when she'd had the cancer, and he shuddered as he pushed that memory out of his mind.

"Laura, are you coming down with something? Maybe we should ask Cottle to come here and check you out—you look so pale!" Bill was genuinely becoming alarmed as he looked at her more closely.

"No, no—I don't need that—really." She grabbed onto the sink to pull herself up. "It's probably just exhaustion—the food in the mess hall wasn't very appetizing and it just didn't set well afterward."

Bill stood up too, pulling her around to him, forcing her to look in his eyes. "Laura…" he weighed his words. "You've been through a lot, physically—the shooting, the surgery, not to mention the mistreatment in the detention center before all of that happened. It hasn't even been a month since you left Life Station, and we've all been pushing ourselves to the limit in the weeks since we were rescued. I want you to promise me you'll go see Dr. Cottle tomorrow and let him examine you."

"Bill, I'm okay, and—"

"The more you protest, woman, the more I think you're keeping something from me!" He was already rattled, and her reaction was just triggering deeper anxiety.

She looked at him, stunned, and for a moment he thought he was going to see that famous Roslin temper, but then her features softened, and she embraced him.

"I'm sorry, Bill—I should have realized you'd worry." She wavered about what to say next; she wanted to lie, to tell him she'd go but skip the visit and avoid the issue for a while longer, but a part of her recognized that tactic wasn't going to be passed off when he discovered her deception later—and he would, she had to know that.

She stroked his face gently. "I'll go, alright? Tomorrow, I'll see Cottle. But right now, I think we both should get some sleep; the past few days have been horrendous and we'll have to get out there right away with the public meetings to discuss the new government."

Bill nodded, and they both changed for bed. As they lay down together, Bill asked her about her impressions of the crowd in the hanger bay. "What do you think they were responding to?"

Laura ran her fingers along his chest. "I think they need hope, Bill, and Lee's presenting a plan—a strategy with goals and solutions to issues that have been plaguing the fleet since we first escaped from the 12 colonies. I think the people are also finally realizing what he accomplished in reuniting all of us. He showed he has compassion for the price paid by the people on New Caprica without taking anything away from his own decisions."

Bill absently glided his hand up and down Laura's arm as he listened. He took a deep breath and asked the follow-up question. "What made you think Lee should run for president? It's like…you could see what was coming."

Laura's hand stopped its movement. "His Transition Plan was well thought-out; I could see he had a talent for nation-building."

"That's not the same as having a talent for politics, Laura, and we both know Lee's never shown an interest in running for office. But you've been ready to promote the idea—and I'll ask again: how did you intuit this would be happening?" Bill shifted to his side to be able to look at her directly.

Her eyes dropped from his as she seemed to consider what to reveal. Looking up again, she said, "I had a vision, Bill. When I coded—in Life Station right after my surgery—I ended up in this room. The Priestess Pythia was there, and…and so was Lee."

"Lee? Laura, you've never mentioned seeing him in these visions!"

"It's never happened before, Bill, believe me. But he was there, and I know—" she closed her eyes, trying to convince herself it was the right thing to do, to keep going now. "Lee remembers it as well—we had a shared experience."

Bill nodded, recalling something. "That's what you talked to him about outside of the Bunker."

"Yes," Laura acknowledged in a whisper. "She told me I was to support Lee—he was the one to lead us now."

"Lead us where?" Bill was studying her reactions.

"To Earth, my love—to Earth."

"And even if that's true, that doesn't mean he should be president—"

"No, Bill, but when we were listening to Lee that day, as he went through the plans he'd developed, it just seemed clear to me that was the way I'm meant to support him—He's going to become the next president and I'm the one to help him get there. I know that isn't what you want for him—maybe it isn't even what he wants for himself yet—but I honestly believe it will come to pass."

Bill pulled her tight against him, kissing her. He was shocked to realize she had tears in her eyes. Something dawned on him, and he asked, "What else did the Priestess tell you, Laura, that upset you?"

Laura moved close to his ear, afraid that just speaking the words would somehow push him away from her. "She told me my cancer would come back."

**Sit Rep: Pegasus Brig, Day 28**

Galen made his way to Boomer's cell. He'd deliberately come late, trying to avoid running into anyone on his way there. There would be great attention placed on who was visiting the prisoners, because sooner or later, despite Lee's cover story, there would be people snooping around, trying to tie the FTL technology to Cylon technology. He wouldn't be able to avoid detection—there were cameras and the guards on duty—but he could limit the number of individuals who knew about his visit.

He smiled widely when he saw Boomer; she rose quickly as soon as she saw him walking towards her cell.

He hugged her briefly after he entered, but he knew this wasn't the time to linger, as much as he wanted to. Kissing her forehead, he guided them to sit on the cot in the small room.

"I can't stay long," he said a little breathlessly, his forehead touching hers. "But there's been a pretty big development and I wanted you to know."

Boomer took his hands into hers, pulling away slightly to gaze at his face, waiting for him to continue.

"Helo and I approached Apollo, telling him about the FTL technology, including the HCT—"

"HCT? I don't—"

"Hyperspace Cylon Tracking device—sorry, it's a name I came up with, when I explained it to the Commander."

"And how did he react?" Boomer felt very anxious; the betterment of her conditions, as well as Caprica's, depended on Lee Adama's acceptance of the plan.

"Well, the story gets a bit complicated, but the long and the short of it is this: he's committed to move forward with the building of the devices."

"And was he willing to provide anything in return?" Boomer knew the other Sharon had been imprisoned for many months and had to prove herself a number of times before anything improved.

"Yes, he was—he'd allow you and Caprica to be in the same cell, and they'd move the two of you to something more like a real room, with decent beds and warm clothes."

Boomer closed her eyes, nodding. "That's a start, Galen—it would be a welcome change."

"They have to set up a lab and make some security changes, which could take a few weeks, given everything else. You'll have to expect to be under guard at all times; you won't have access to any other parts of the ship—"

"I'll be ready. If there's any way to put me with Caprica, we can get started with drawings, blueprints, a list of materials we'll need—the time won't be wasted."

"I'll see what I can do to move you two; Lee's going to need time to recover, so I can't promise anything in the next several days, but—"

"Recover? What happened?" Boomer hated the isolation in the brig; there was no way to know what was happening or even keep track of how much time was passing.

"I can't—the less you know, the better, for now. If the others think I've been passing on sensitive information, we'll both be in danger-

"You're right, Chief. I'm sorry—it's just so hard, never having any news of the outside."

Galen held her close again for a long moment. Reluctantly, he let her go, kissing her cheek. "I have to go now, if I hope to see Caprica before the next shift picks up here; I wanted to give her some hope too."

Boomer's eyes followed Galen as he moved towards the door, but she remained sitting on the cot, her eyes welling with tears. It was the loneliness, the absence of any stimulation, that drove her mad.

Seeing her distress, and knowing if he went to comfort her he'd be unable to resist doing more, Galen could only manage to murmur "I'll get you both moved as soon as I can" before heading down the corridor to talk to Caprica.

**Sit Rep: Life Station, Day 30**

With a long sigh of contentment, Lee stepped out of the small shower, warm and relaxed. After the surgery, he had been relieved to find out he only had to wear a short shin brace this time, one that could be removed for bathing and sleeping.

Dr. Waltham's work had been miraculous, in Lee's view; the pain had lessened considerably after this procedure and he was surprised he could put weight on his leg, despite the injuries sustained in the kidnapping. The doctor had explained Lee's leg had been lacerated, but the bone hadn't been re-broken; the cast the insurgent physician had put on was most likely meant to slow him down, keeping him from thinking he could escape.

Now that the surgery had reinforced his healing bone, Lee felt steadier on his feet. He had a long road ahead for full recovery; it still wasn't clear his tendons and muscles would heal sufficiently in the long-term to allow him to fly. But for now, Lee could walk without the sensation his leg might give out and he wasn't struggling with the pain that had sapped his energy before. Dr. Waltham had been clear he shouldn't run, lift heavy weights, or try boxing for at least another six weeks—he'd have to settle for light weight training and long walks along Pegasus corridors—but he would have relatively normal mobility otherwise.

Gingerly putting on the civilian clothes Karl had brought by earlier, Lee wished he could head back to his quarters and spend some real time with Kara. Ever since his return, he'd been in Life Station, drugged out and sleeping for most of the past two days. Dr. Waltham would only allow people to visit for short periods, insisting Lee needed a significant amount of rest; he'd barely had a chance to talk to his father, and Helo had only been able to stick his head in on the second day for a brief chat when he dropped off the change of clothes.

Now, the Admiral was insisting Lee come to his quarters for dinner and discussion. Kara would be there, and Roslin too; Lee knew it was meant to be a sort of celebration, as much as anything else, but he would have given a great deal to put the event off a few days. He was certain there would be talk about the new government, and his possible role, as well as a debate over how to handle the talks with the insurgents.

What made Lee more uncomfortable than the prospect of those topics was the knowledge he'd have to explain the real origin of the FTL technology, and he recognized he'd already painted all of them into a corner. They were committed to building the prototypes and trying to make his vision of a "floating nation" a reality, based on a Cylon design he couldn't be sure would even work. Lee was going to get a lot of resistance from his father and Roslin—not to mention Kara—they all had good reason to suspect everything Cylons said or did. Lee was going to argue that Sharon's work over the past year, especially during the rescue, proved it was possible to trust and rely on a Cylon and that knowledge of technology, but he knew he was still asking for a significant leap of faith. How could Lee be sure these two Cylons didn't mean harm to the Colonials? He didn't know them at all; the Boomer he spent time with on Galactica before the assassination attempt on his father wasn't necessarily the Boomer currently in his brig, and the blond model—Caprica—was a complete wild card.

The response of the people in the hanger bay, though, as Lee had come to understand, meant he had to press forward, even at the risk of alienating his father and close friends. The fleet had latched onto the promise of a future without constant fear of Cylon attacks, and he wanted to deliver. He was skeptical about this whole presidency business, but he was certain the FTL technology could allow the Colonials to develop—to move beyond the past in some way. If that way forward was based on Cylon technology, maybe that was poetic justice—they owed the humans far too much already. This would be a down payment on their debts.

**Sit Rep: Admiral's Private Quarters, Day 30**

As soon as Lee entered the room, his father came to greet him with a hug. The gesture caught Lee off guard, but he returned the embrace with genuine pleasure. Laura hugged him too, handing him a glass of ambrosia.

"Where's Kara?" Lee asked, immediately worried and disappointed she wasn't there.

"She'll be here shortly, son—she said she had a surprise she wanted to bring." The elder Adama led them all to take seats on the couch. They passed the time with light conversation until Kara arrived.

Lee caught his breath as she entered; Kara was dressed in civilian clothes too, and she'd obviously taken care to look especially appealing for the occasion. The long-sleeved blouse was silk, a teal-blue hue that brought out the color in her face. It was tucked in, showing off her movements and the narrowness of her waist; the pants were smooth wool, rather than the cotton canvas she normally wore. But what made her look stunning was the way her hair framed her features; she'd had at least five inches cut off, smooth layers now swinging just below her chin. Long bangs made a dramatic sweep over one eye, and every slight change in her walk caught different highlights in the light as she moved. Lee flashed back to the night at the Academy so long ago, when she'd come onto that stage at the announcement of the Starbuck-Apollo vertical maneuver—the red sweater, the black beads of her necklace, the way electricity arced between them when she'd leaned into him up there, hips touching, arms linked. He felt his stomach flutter and he was sure his face was flushed as he walked towards her.

She pulled Lee into an embrace slowly, her hands languorously sliding along the whole of his back, feeling along every muscle. He allowed himself the guilty pleasure of burying his face in her lustrous hair for one lingering moment as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her hips flush with his. He let go, suddenly, realizing he was not alone with her and he was going to have trouble walking in another few seconds if he held on that way. Kara smiled as he pulled away, winking. Lee was dimly aware of his father encouraging them to all sit at the table to eat, and he nearly stumbled as he fought to look away from her and pay attention to the rest of the world around him.

As Lee pulled out a chair for Laura, trying to hold onto his wits and his manners, he noticed Kara ask his father a question and then move over to the small instrument panel on the far wall. Lee knew, from his own time living in these quarters, that was the audio-visual system for the room, and in another second, the lilting, melancholy sounds of piano music drifted towards them at the table.

Lee moved quickly to get Kara's chair too, earning a wicked smile from her as she sat down. He leaned over while he pushed the chair back in, letting his breath brush her ear; he saw her shudder and smiled a devious grin of his own.

"What is this music, Kara?" Laura asked as she studied the two of them while pretending to focus on arranging her utensils.

"It's a recording of my father's compositions," Kara said softly, pride in her voice.

Lee was intrigued; in all the time he'd known her, Kara had never let on she had a recording of his pieces, let alone played it for anyone.

"It's stunning, Kara—evocative." Laura clearly appreciated the music, closing her eyes for a moment to concentrate on the melodies and syncopation. "There's an almost haunting quality to it though—do you find that?"

Kara laughed, a tinge of bitterness in her tone. "Um-hmm. My dad had his demons; he said they were always there in the background chords, making their presence known."

"It's amazing you were able to hold onto it over these past years, Starbuck," the Admiral interjected quietly.

"I was able to retrieve it when I went back to Caprica for the Arrow of Apollo," Kara explained, her voice controlled. "Gods, that feels like so long ago…"

Laura nodded. "It does. We've traveled many light years on our journey since then."

Lee couldn't help but notice the sadness in Laura's eyes as she said that, and he watched as his father seemed to exchange some unspoken message with her. He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but it didn't seem the time.

To Lee's great relief, the subjects of politics, FTL drives, and Cylons were not brought up during the meal. They focused on a discussion of Caprican history, memories of the Academy, and tales of the escapades of the crew of the Galactica in the days before the end of the worlds. It was wonderfully warm and light-hearted, and Lee felt the stress slowly begin loosening its grip on his muscles.

When they moved to the couches afterward, glasses of ambrosia for everyone, Kara leaned against him, and Lee happily wrapped his arm around her, relishing the heat from her body pressed along his own. He flashed back again to that night—_the_ night—dinner with Lightening and Sarah, Kara fitting into him just this way, when all he could concentrate on was how quickly they could all leave so he would be able to kiss her, taste her, make love to her. Exactly the way he was beginning to feel right now, especially as the ambrosia kicked in, lowering his already weakened willpower.

Suddenly aware he might be dragged into serious conversation, and knowing he wasn't nearly clear-headed enough for it, Lee extricated himself from the couch and excused himself to use the head.

Moving into the darkened bedroom towards the bathroom, he was startled to feel a hand draw him to a corner where the light from the outer room didn't reach. Kara's lips quickly found his, and he moaned as she slid her body around him, hands gripping his hair, her tongue playing feverishly in his mouth. He kissed her harder, hips grinding, his hands stroking her nipples through the silken blouse. She whimpered in response, then deftly worked her hand down the front of his pants. Lee had to moan into her shoulder, his fear of being overheard mixed with thoughts of frakking her right there. He was feeling out of control, his body moving faster than his mind could keep up.

She was kissing him again, then moving to his ear to swirl her tongue into the whorls of soft tissue. Lee's body was trembling; he was sure Kara remembered how hard he got whenever she did that to him. He was beginning to feel desperate; he had the distinct impression Kara was trying to let him know she was ready now to be this intimate, to make love to him, and he also had the frightening sensation he was about to take her here, in his father's bedroom, two people waiting for them out there. _He couldn't do this_…

Kara wrapped her hands around Lee's waist, guiding him to sit in the chair she seemed to know was right there. _Had she planned to…? _His thinking stopped the minute he felt her unzipping his pants and stroking his shaft. His hands went greedily to her blouse, yanking it out to touch her breasts. Finding she hadn't worn anything underneath it, he lifted up the material, taking in one nipple and sucking firmly, groaning again as she let go of his erection long enough to undo her pants. He pulled down her panties, his fingers eagerly playing with her, stroking inside her until he heard that mewl that signaled she was close to breaking. He moved to suckle her other breast as he eased her on top of him, gasping as he felt himself sink deeply into her. Kara started riding him, breathing erratically as he played with her in just the right spot. She kissed him once more, deeply, her moans vibrating into his mouth, before moving her lips to the place on the back of his neck that she knew would push him over the edge. He wanted it to last, wanted to savor the pleasure of being so buried in that fire of her, but he was too far gone, and he came in a shuddering wave, his head falling back as she continued sliding over him, never stopping her movements. He heard her soft cry against his neck as she broke too, and he gripped her for dear life as she whispered "Love you, Lee".

Laura looked at the chrono, realizing Lee and Kara had been gone for nearly 10 minutes. "Bill, I'm going to check on them—maybe something's happened with Lee's leg."

He yawned. "Maybe you're right—I really hoped we could talk about some things tonight, but if he's having trouble—"

"I'll be right back." Laura moved into the other room, and immediately sensed something else was going on entirely; the light in the head wasn't on, and she could hear soft sounds of panting. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see figures near the chair, and recognized the rhythm of movement. For a split second, she was transfixed, watching them—even in the near darkness, there was something about their passion that was enthralling—then she averted her eyes, embarrassed she'd witnessed something so private and conflicted that it was erotic too.

Scurrying back out, hoping she hadn't been noticed in there, Laura went quickly back to the couch. "They…I think there was just a problem with Lee's brace. I do think he's worn out, Bill; we should let them return to their quarters." With a conspiratorial wink, she said in a low voice, "and it will give us some time to enjoy each other alone."

Bill smiled. "What suddenly got into you? I thought you were determined to talk to Lee about the presidency—"

Laura kissed him to stop the conversation. "I think everyone can wait another day or two for that."

Cradling Kara, Lee ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her everywhere. "Gods, I want so much to just be able to do this all night…"

"Lee, we have to figure out a way to get out of here. Now." Kara's lips sought out his, the intensity matching her first kiss. "We have so much time to make up for," she murmured breathlessly.

"We need to get dressed, and I'll think of something, I promise." He drew her against him yet again, feeling as though he could never have enough of her, his lips crushing hers as he moaned, want building rapidly.

"As we walk out, act as though you're holding me up," Lee said under his breath. They stepped back into the room.

"I'm suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded," Lee offered. "Sorry we took so long; I was hoping it would go away, but I think I need to get back to quarters and lie down."

"We understand, son," Bill said quickly. "There's still a lot to talk about, but it can wait. Kara, I'd appreciate you looking out for him tonight."

"Of course, Sir," she said lightly, keeping her arm around Lee as they moved to the hatch.

Lee wondered, fleetingly, why Laura wasn't making eye contact, but he didn't consider it further as his father seemed ready to usher them out.

As they walked back to their own room, Lee chuckled, his eyes dancing with happiness. Kara held his hand as they opened the hatch, her own laughter filling the room as the door swung shut.


	24. Ch 19: What We Must Become

_My thanks, as always, to my readers, reviewers, and my awesome beta, Uberscribbler!_

_This chapter is a long one, and our characters are processing a lot of things internally. Many elements have to be set in place for the action sequences to ahead : -) _

**EVENT HORIZON: OFFENSIVES**

**Book II. Chapter 3: What We Must Become**

"_The Past is to be respected and acknowledged, but not to be worshipped. It is our future in which will find our greatness." Pierre Trudeau_

"_If men saw that a term was set to their troubles, they would find strength in some way to withstand the hocus-pocus and intimidations of the prophets." Lucretius_

"_I run to the river and dive straight in; I pray that the water will drown out the din_

_But as the water fills my mouth, it couldn't wash the echoes out." Drumming Song, Florence and the Machine_

**Sit Rep: Dr. Martin's Quarters, Pegasus, Eight Weeks after the Rescue, Six weeks Since the last Cylon Attack**

Dr. Martin sighed in exasperation as she picked up the items that Kara had pushed to the floor in a fit of pique only moments before; she glanced over at the young woman furiously moving a paintbrush across the canvas, wondering what she was going to be able to pursue with her next.

"At least the painting seems to refocus Kara," the doctor thought, grateful there weren't any valuables that could be tossed around.

Reflecting on the recent 'conversation,' if it could be called that, Dr. Martin worked to assemble the sequence of topics that had led to Kara's outburst. It had started out well enough; Kara had been able to discuss some of the things Leoben used to say to her and the two of them had worked on how to re-direct Kara's thinking when the memories pressed in. Kara was uncomfortable with the 'psychology' approach, but she seemed willing to test out a few of the suggestions.

Then Dr. Martin had tried to get Kara to think about other kinds of work she could take up until she was cleared for flying again. At this point, the young woman had begun pacing around the room, looking a bit like a panther seeking a way out of its cage. She tried to explain that flying was the only thing she could do or wanted to do—nothing else would be an acceptable alternative.

Dr. Martin chewed slightly on her inner lip, puzzling over the trigger for Kara. Only seconds after she'd said she wouldn't tolerate anything else, Kara had swung her arms wildly, knocking all of the things that had been on the table and sending them flying. She had a feral and yet panicked look in her eyes, as though she was going to punch the doctor next to run out the door. That's when Dr. Martin essentially ordered her to start painting, explaining Kara had to find other outlets when she reached that kind of frustration. To the doctor's surprise, Kara had actually moved to the canvas and started sketching something.

Looking up again, Dr. Martin saw Kara had stopped and was just standing there, staring at the picture, a light sweat on her face.

"Tell me what you drew, Kara," the doctor said quietly.

Kara shook her head, tears welling.

Still baffled by what was going on inside this person's head, Dr. Martin walked over to view the canvas. She saw the shape of flying creature—a bird, she realized—with its wings mangled, diving uncontrollably towards the ground.

The doctor was alarmed. She'd honestly believed Kara was feeling a bit better emotionally, day by day, but this image suggested she saw herself as broken and heading for a bad end.

"Is this really how you see yourself? Broken and plunging towards the ground?"

Kara looked surprised. "No…I mean…well, not the way you said it. It's—" she stopped, words seeming so inadequate in trying to capture what she meant by the drawing.

"Tell me, Kara—what does it say to the person viewing it?" The doctor kept her voice even and soft.

"I don't feel broken, I _am_ broken. I can't fly. My hands, my reflexes…" she took in a sharp inhale as she choked on the tears she didn't want to let loose.

Moving in a little closer, Dr. Martin tried to make eye contact. "I don't understand—help me understand."

Leaning back against the wall, her eyes closing, Kara struggled to breathe as she tried to talk. "I went to—it was a level I simulation, any nugget could make it through…but when I—I couldn't do it. My hands…I kept shaking, and I missed every target. Every one. Even crash landed," she said finally, a dark, sarcastic chuckle coming from her chest.

"And you think that means you won't be able to fly again—your wings are gone," Dr. Martin finished, handing Kara a glass of water and gesturing for them to sit down.

Nodding, Kara sank into the chair, suddenly exhausted.

"Okay, so let's use the approach we were just talking about before. Discuss the injuries you've been recovering from first."

Kara went through the list.

"And what else happened—what did Dr. Cottle say about the tremors you've experienced since you've been back?"

"He told me it was probably the heavy medications Leoben had given me, especially because that went on for a long period of time." Kara caught the doctor's gaze.

"And he was pretty sure the problems would eventually resolve, but it might take several months, right?"

"Yeah…" Kara said at a whisper.

"Kara, it's only been eight weeks since you've been back, and for most of that time, you've been in Life Station or in the Bunker. You haven't had much chance to exercise, let alone pursue any kind of physical therapy, and your body is still working on recovery from a lot of damage. The mental stress affects everything too—steadiness on your feet, stamina, reflexes, confidence to take action in split-second decisions.

"You haven't given yourself a chance yet. I suspect that's a problem you've encountered before—not giving yourself any leeway—but today, that's going to change. It has to. The only way you're going to regain your whole self is to take the time to claim it. I wish there was a way that could happen in one fell swoop, but it won't. The path is putting each building block in place, not blasting a way through."

"So what's the first building block, doc? Seemed to me that a nugget simulation was—"

"Kara Thrace, stop. Stop!" Dr. Martin's voice became loud and firm. Kara's mouth fell open a bit in shock.

"You diminish each step, thinking it's 'so easy an idiot could do it' and you just make yourself feel small. What's the point in that? Don't treat yourself like a cadet, Kara—you're a strong officer with a plan. You'll have to work each step, and you can't skip around—even though I'm sure that's your nature to want to leap ahead. Like it or not, this is one period in your life where you're going to have to do things in sequence."

"And that is?"

"You tell me, Captain Thrace. You've seen what war recovery looks like—what's involved?"

Shaking her head, Kara inhaled. "Okay, it starts with physical therapy—exercises to build back muscle, retrain reflexes, speed up reaction times."

"And then…"

"And then, computerized activities—games that increase mental agility, push responses, improve hand-eye coordination."

"Before you finally…"

"Get into the simulation machine and start training runs."

So it sounds like you need to set up some time with someone who knows the physical therapy routines, and I think you already realize who could help out_ there_," Dr. Martin responded, laughing lightly.

"Lee," Kara said, a little sheepishly. It really hadn't occurred to her before, but now that they were walking through everything, it seemed strange she didn't see it sooner.

"Right. He can help you learn the activities, and then other people can practice with you. Plus I'm sure you already know some of the routines yourself—just don't take on too much too fast, or you'll set yourself up for frustration."

A sound at the hatch signaled time had run out for the session. "Work the plan, Captain," Dr. Martin encouraged as she walked Kara to the exit.

**Sit Rep: Tory Foster's Private Quarters, Pegasus, Eight Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Tory threw her writing pen in frustration onto the desk before dropping her head into her palms, elbows propped up against the desktop. She was so tired and she wasn't sure what her role in the future was going to be.

At the moment, Roslin had her working on a communications strategy for the new fleet structural talks and elections for a congress as well as a president and vice-president. It would lay out the reasoning, the timeline, and the actions individuals should take who were going to be interested in running for offices once the structural plans were agreed upon and finalized. Tory knew, though, she didn't have any 'official' job; they were using her for the time being because they didn't know whom else to call on. As soon as things stabilized a bit, she was sure they'd realize they wanted someone else.

Tory had never felt Roslin liked her or even trusted her all that much. She'd been picked because she'd been a marketing manager in her former life, and some of that work had included political campaigns for low-level municipal quorum members in Delphi and a few province house candidates. She was confident she'd done an effective job for Laura after Billy's unexpected death, but Tory knew well she and Roslin didn't see eye to eye on much of anything.

Oddly, it had been much easier on New Caprica to feel useful and even important, in a way. She had been viewed as more of an equal—consulted on decisions and asked to take on significant responsibilities. Now, Tory was beginning to feel like a lackey again. It wasn't that the work itself wasn't of value—it was—but no one _talked_ to her any more. She felt like she was just issued orders and expected to go off and complete her tasks as quietly as possible.

She'd begun contemplating how to extract herself from her current situation, wondering if would be possible to move to a different ship and start over. Maybe, following Lee Adama's plan, she could apprentice to learn a new job and make some kind of meaningful contribution. A change of location, a chance to make new contacts, alternate work—it sounded very appealing right now.

But something kept her from taking the first step towards realizing these ideas. Really, someone. Because Tory did know someone who'd appreciated her as her own person, a man she'd helped nurse back to health and had worked beside and respected. Someone who made her laugh and come out of herself.

Looking back, Tory could see she'd developed deep feelings for Sam Anders in all those months working for the Resistance. It was a close friendship, certainly, and when he'd kissed her two weeks ago, her body told her something her mind hadn't allowed for: she was attracted to him too. Intensely, as it'd turned out—which had led to an unsettling lapse of judgment on her part.

A part of her wanted to go to Sam, to be the friend she was sure he needed about now, and return the favor he'd done for her when Tom was dying and she didn't know how to cope. At the same time, the anxiety in her gut hadn't gone away. It seemed so wrong to carry these emotions for Sam when Tom hadn't been gone for very long at all and Sam himself was still involved with his wife, whether they were staying together or not. All the same, Tory couldn't bring herself to really think about leaving her current situation just yet.

Worn out from the roller coaster of feelings she'd experienced in the past few days, Tory decided she wasn't going to get any other work done on the communications plan. She got up from the desk and crawled into the bunk, grateful for the comfort of a pillow and warm blankets as she finally sank into a deep sleep without the anguish that had been a part of her routine for nearly eight weeks.

**Sit Rep: Observation Deck, Pegasus, Eight Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Helo stretched out contentedly on the couch, savoring the ambrosia in his flask. Lee was on another couch nearby, taking the flask every so often for his share. They'd come to discuss the rising calls for Lee to run for President, but given the nature of the topic, both men wanted to focus on other things first.

"Kara seems good," Helo offered casually, breaking the comfortable silence. He was glad they had the place to themselves, to give them the space to catch up on everything.

"Ummm," Lee replied, noncommittally.

"Well, that wasn't the response I expected from you," Helo said, sitting up a bit straighter.

"She's getting better, Karl, but it's very day-by-day—I'm never sure where she'll be emotionally from one sighting to the next." Lee laughed ruefully.

"That doesn't sound any different from the Kara we knew before New Caprica," Helo gibed affectionately.

"Seriously, I'm still worried about her. Our relationship is going well—the best we've ever been—but I can tell she's still struggling with a lot of demons from that bastard Leoben and I feel helpless when she has the nightmares."

"Is Dr. Martin helping?"

"Yeah…I mean, I think so. Gods know what they do in their time together—if the doctor has a secret to getting Kara to talk, I'd pay a lot to know what it is." Lee sighed and reached for the flask, taking a long draw.

"She'd do better if she could box with Kara—literally—that's when she tends to share the most."

"That's a great point, Helo—I'm going to try that myself."

Looking over at Lee, Karl realized he wasn't joking—he was thinking over the possibilities of what he might glean between jabs and feints.

"Let me know if it works for you too," Helo said, smiling.

"And Hera and Sharon—how are they?"

"Every day is like another miracle, as far as I'm concerned…Hera is precocious and Sharon's wonderful with her. I think Sharon would like to be more involved in work than she has been—with the concerns still high over possible future hate crimes against her as Cylon, the Admiral's limited her duties to 'safe' locations where Marines are nearby."

Lee sat up, drinking again as he stared out at the star field. "I wish there was something else we could do."

"Well, there will be something, when you become President," Karl offered quietly.

"Umm. That. I suppose we should talk about it now…" Lee looked over to his friend.

"You know what I'm going to say already, Apollo."

"Yeah, but I don't feel any more certain about it than before," he replied, standing up to pace. "I've spent my life in the military; I never paid much attention to politics, at least not the kind related to elections."

"But you always had an interest in the law, Lee, and you certainly've always cared about ensuring justice was done."

"Which is hardly the same thing as running a nation, Karl."

"Think of it more like a town—30,000 people—that's not really so intimidating, is it?" Helo smirked light-heartedly.

Lee's face grew more serious. "That's the whole thing, Karl—that's all that's left of us. 30 billion human beings—now one ten-thousandth of one percent remains. It _is_ intimidating."

"I'll concede that point—I'm sorry if I seemed glib. And I'll suggest this: you've already been responsible, with a small group of people, for the safeguarding of the Colonials. The responsibility isn't different—just the way you'd be meeting it." Helo stood up and walked to Lee's vantage point.

"Lee, we've worked closely together, and already shared experiences that defy anything we could've imagined when we were on Caprica, before the end of the worlds. I didn't always trust you or frankly even respect you all that much, so when I say to you now I firmly believe you're the best person we could have for this role, it comes from a place of deep understanding. Who you were and who you are—it's been a dramatic shift. It didn't happen overnight—you earned it through work and suffering and taking risks. The things you've gone through have prepared you—it's time to fully step into the role of leader."

Shaking his head, Lee crossed his arms over his chest, studying the floor. "Gods help me, but that's scarier than facing a hundred Cylon raiders by myself."

"Only because you've defeated raiders before and you've never been President—it'll pass, Lee."

"You don't know that I'd be elected, even if I put my name out there…"

"Well, if your homecoming after the kidnapping was any indication, I think you're already on your way." Karl clapped him on the back.

Lee turned to face Helo, his expression one suddenly almost pleading. "Be my wingman on this, Karl—run with me."

"Wh-what? I mean, run where?"

"Vice-President!" Lee laughed at his friend's confusion. "I guess you're feeling how scary it is now too?"

"Umm-hum," Karl managed to get out, coughing slightly. "I don't know what to say. I'd do anything for you, but that's…"

"Karl, we make a great team—we've proved that in the past months. If I'm going to do this, I'd like someone by my side who'll understand how I think and realize when to push back or tell me what I'm going to do is frakked-up. I don't want to take the fleet down the wrong course, and I trust you the most to make sure I won't."

Helo sat down on the couch again. He was silent for five minutes, breathing hard as he tried to figure out what to say to his friend. Lee took up his place again on the nearby couch, taking a new draw from the flask.

Karl shuddered slightly as he started talking again. "Lee Adama, I _am_ going to be at your side—so will Kara, so will your father, so will Roslin and Tyrol—even Tigh and Anders. When you become President, I'll be willing to be a part of your administration—Chief of Staff, if you want—something behind the scenes. Assuming your father will let both of us leave the military, which isn't a given. But I can't…I have to think of my family. I won't make them targets any more than they already are, and I can't put Sharon through that kind of worry, making myself so visible and endangering all of us."

Lee bowed his head, somewhat embarrassed for his lack of sensitivity and his fuzzy thinking, borne out of a kind of desperation. "Of course, Karl. I should've realized…I feel so vulnerable myself, I guess, thinking about doing this. I just wonder if it's something I'm meant to do when I feel so damned uncertain and reluctant."

"Which is why you'll be good at being President; you don't want the role for the power or the attention and you don't think you're the smartest person in any room either. You aren't isolated, Lee—it won't be all on your shoulders. There'll be a congress, the votes of the people—it isn't like commanding a battlestar or an armada. Even when you want to, you won't be able to rule by fiat."

"Then I won't have to worry about becoming just like my father, will I?" Lee laughed a little sarcastically.

"Your father is a special leader, Apollo—you know that. And he's best in the role he has—you never were that similar, in certain important aspects. But you have his spirit and his soundness of judgment, the qualities someone would want to adopt from William Adama."

"What you said before, though, it's true—can the Admiral afford to lose two senior military officers in what remains of our forces? And the flying—gods, I don't know how to give that up, Karl." Lee was up and taking quick strides across the length of the deck, agitated once more.

"You said it yourself—we have to develop others, fill out our ranks. There are some strong candidates from the troops we trained for the rescue mission; I can begin discussing with the Admiral different assignments for some of them."

"But we need pilots," Lee murmured to himself.

"And you're a great one, but not necessarily irreplaceable, even if you are named after a god," Helo offered good-naturedly. "As for the feeling of flying—I'm sure the Old Man would let you take a viper out for a game of tag team with Starbuck. When she's ready," he added more soberly.

"I'd love to experience that again," Lee whispered. "Right now, neither of us is sure we'll be able to get back in the cockpit."

At a loss for words to counter his friend's sadness, Karl offered him the last of the ambrosia in the flask. They sat in the still darkness for a time, preoccupied.

"Lee, it's too soon to tell how much you can get back physically; same for Kara. But there was a time, right before you ended up on Galactica, you were going to leave the military altogether. You've never felt that was the life that called you, and it was only fate that extended the role."

"The gods extended the role, Karl—"

"And the gods have made it clear you have a different one to fulfill going forward," Helo reproached.

"Arrggh!" Lee let out emphatically. "They never used the word President—that was Roslin's idea!"

"It makes the most sense! How else can you be the leader of colonization? It can't be a soldier, Lee—not a Commander or an Admiral. He wouldn't be able to convince the people not only of where to go, but the way to get there. And what about when we arrive at Earth—have you thought of that? We'll need someone who represents all of the Colonials and their interests; we can't send a military person without creating a panic and a mistrust of our intentions."

"Assuming I even became President, it doesn't mean I'd be the person on the job when we arrive at Earth. For gods sake, we don't truly don't have any idea if Earth exists, or in what stage of development it might be in!" Lee ran his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"Gods, man, you're about to drive me mad enough to toss you out into those stars out there! Look, you saw the placement of Earth in the constellations chamber on Kobol. We were given information about the Eye of Jupiter when you had that—vision?—during your speech before the rescue. I'm confident that we'll learn more about how to locate Earth once we arrive at the Eye."

"Which would be when, do you think? It could be decades…"

"But it isn't. Lee, these are all just distractions from the real point, which is whether or not you're going to put yourself out there in a vastly different light than anything you've tried before. The rest will happen as it's intended to unfold. Myself, I predict we'll reach the Eye within the next twelve months, likely sooner, and Earth won't be decades off."

Lee stood, staring at Helo for a long moment. "Let's go with the idea, then, that I'm running for office. I'll need a campaign manager…"

"Which should be Roslin."

"You've got to be frakking kidding me! We'll kill each other first." Lee started cracking his knuckles in anxiety.

"There was a time you genuinely _liked_ her," Helo countered, surprised by Lee's reaction.

"And you know that her judgment is pretty extreme. She suggested assassinating Cain, she stole Hera, she chose Baltar as her Vice President—"

"All true. And there's no affection I carry for Roslin, not remotely. However, she's a great strategist in politics and she knows how to manage a campaign, how to write a speech, how to forge alliances and cut deals. Most of all, she wants the job and she's already started functioning that way, if you'll admit it."

Lee gestured towards the exit, signaling he was reaching his limit as far as uncomfortable topics were concerned and needed to focus on other things for a while. "Agreed then. I'm running for office, Roslin's my campaign manager, and you'll be my Chief of Staff. I still have no Vice President, but I can't concentrate on anything else for now."

"Just let me know when you decide to clue everyone else in, so I'll be ready," Karl said jovially as they reached the hatch and left the Observation Deck.

"Do you have time for a few rounds of boxing? I'm too wound up to see anybody yet," Lee asked as they sauntered down the corridor.

"Yeah, I think I can manage that. I owe you a few punches for grilling me back there!" They laughed as they headed to the gym.

**Sit Rep: Brig, Pegasus, Eight Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Caprica was careful not to speak a word to Boomer until they were finally alone in their new cell. It was a real room—walls and two beds with mattresses, rather than cots. A toilet, sink, and shower were enclosed by a circular plastic curtain in one corner, while four shelves were found along one side of the cell and a built-in desk/table with two chairs was located on the other side.

To the surprise of both women, a few supplies had been placed on the desk, including paper, pens, a scientific calculator, and a few manuals on different types of Colonial FTL drives. Over on the beds, they could see extra blankets, additional clothing, and basic toiletries—soap, toothbrushes, and combs.

But the most important thing they now had was each other. Boomer surprised Caprica by giving her a hug—a gesture foreign to most Cylons—and both of them welled up.

"It's almost strange to be around another person again," Caprica said with some astonishment.

"We're going from complete isolation to continuous companionship, Sister—you may grow tired of it," Boomer said, smiling.

"Somehow I doubt that. We definitely have a lot of work to do, though." Caprica was still trying to adjust to the sound of her own voice—her throat was slightly hoarse.

"I know," Boomer acknowledged resignedly as she sat down on one of the beds. "The sooner we can build the prototypes, the sooner we'll gain the trust of the others. I'm worried, Caprica—the Cylon Cabinet has to be planning a counter-attack of significant proportions."

"I agree—it's been a long time since I've heard the alarms on the ship. They haven't attacked the Colonials in at least—"

"Six weeks, according to Galen. He was afraid to say too much, but he did tell me that."

"I can't believe we were in isolation cells for that long. It was…an unnerving experience." A thought struck Caprica then. "I know there're cameras in here; do you suppose there's audio too?"

"No. At least, not from anything I can find—I know what the microphones look like and where they'd usually be placed, and I don't see them."

"That's a relief. I'd rather not deal with that too. We need to be able to talk freely to build any progress—I can't imagine what they'd make of discussions of Cylon technologies." Caprica sat on the other bed, eyeing the bathroom area.

"The first item on my list is to enjoy a long, hot shower. I feel like I've been cold to-the-bone for the entire eight weeks!"

"Me too. I can't wait to take one myself. And to get into some other warm clothes—I'm grateful Galen arranged for those too."

"Have you seen him recently?" Caprica pressed, as she began moving items to shelves.

"He came two weeks ago, to tell me we'd be moved, and had the guard slip me a note yesterday. It said we'd be expected to work in a science lab with Baltar starting in another 48 hours."

"Baltar?" Caprica dropped what she was holding, and bent over to pick it up. "I didn't expect that." Boomer noticed Caprica's hands shaking. She walked over to the woman, lightly rubbing her arm.

"You won't have to deal with him alone, Sister—remember that. I didn't realize he would upset you that much…"

"He was so different on New Caprica, not the man I knew before. Especially after he developed his surprising addiction to Lethe. He kept hallucinating about some woman named Vivian, and later he actually started a sexual relationship with Three."

"Why did those changes bother you?" Boomer hadn't heard Caprica talk about Baltar very often since the first days of the "experiment" on that planet; she knew there were feelings involved, but until this moment, hadn't considered they might have been of greater significance.

"To be honest, I don't know. I was happy to see him at first—I guess I'd enjoyed my assignment with him more than I realized at the time—and I was…upset when it was clear he wasn't very interested in me. We had sex again on New Caprica, but it wasn't like before; he wasn't present in it, somehow.

Caprica was quiet for a few seconds, lost in reverie. "Believe it or not, I took some wonderful trips with Gaius in the months before the second Cylon attack. We spent a great deal of time together, really—I was at his house more often than my own apartment. I'd thought we could re-establish that…connection…and it proved impossible."

"And when he developed a 'connection' with Three—"

"I felt…strange. Anger, pain, sadness—emotions I'm unaccustomed to."

"I think the humans would call it jealousy, Sister. You wondered why he responded to Three, rather than you."

"Yes, that's exactly what bothered me so much—enraged me, honestly. I'd never been so—furious—but it was also something else, a feeling I can't put a name to. I cried, Boomer—more than once. I didn't really know what to make of what was happening to me."

"Rejection is painful—it creates sensations of loneliness. That's what Galen felt when the other Eight, the other Sharon, fell in love with Karl Agathon."

Caprica nodded as she began understanding Tyrol's previous reactions better. "He was angry, hostile when you approached him during the Colonial Rescue Mission, because of his pain."

Sharon gave a bittersweet smile. "Things are better now between us," she murmured. "I was able to explain, to express that _I_ still love him. Boomer didn't reject him; another Eight, a person completely separate from me, did that." She gripped the bed sheets tensely. "He's still conflicted, though. It's confusing to him that we look identical but we aren't, in terms of personality or feeling. All the same, I'm encouraged by renewed feelings growing between us, even though we've only seen each other a few times in these months."

"Do you think…maybe Gaius had a similar feeling, when he saw me on that planet." Caprica was deep in thought.

"There's no way to know what his emotions were for you before he learned your real identity as a Cylon. After he realized he ended up unwittingly helping the Cylons win the Second War in giving you the access codes to the defense systems, he had to be conflicted." Boomer considered what she'd observed about Baltar's character.

"Baltar's primarily amoral, Caprica, but he isn't without a conscience. And when you consider the circumstances at the time he saw you again—forcing him as President to surrender the Colonials to Cylon control—it probably felt like a repeat of the same crime, from his perspective."

Caprica turned to Sharon, squeezing her hand, grateful for her insights. "I'm glad we're together, Boomer," she said with intensity. "I didn't realize how much I…the thoughts I've been weighed down with."

"I know, Caprica, I know. It's a lot to absorb without any guidance. There're so many emotions we can experience, and we're like human children when we first stumble into them. It's not easy to figure out what we're going through, how to identify the feelings; learning how to manage them poses other challenges."

"I guess I should expect Gaius to react the way Galen did, when we see him in a few days."

"Probably…but don't assume Baltar doesn't have positive feelings for you too. If he spent that much time with you before the attacks, when he didn't know your identity, I suspect he was genuinely attached, emotionally.

Boomer tilted a look at Caprica. "Do you want to connect again with Baltar now, even in light of what you've learned about him?"

The other woman sighed, sitting back down on the bed and bowing her head. "I'm not sure, Boomer. I can only admit I'm anxious, and at the same time, looking forward to seeing him. I guess it's what the humans would call 'hope'—I can't let go of the idea I might have the chance to be closer to him again."

"Hope is a powerful force. Hold onto that; it'll make the next few months bearable. The Colonials aren't going to accept us easily, I'm afraid."

"Which brings us back to the original topic: what's the Cylon Cabinet up to? They're holding back for a reason, Boomer—I don't believe they haven't been able to track the humans in a six-week time period."

"I don't believe that either. Maybe they're arguing over what to do—I have to think Cavil would rather wipe out the Colonials at this point, while some of the others want to leave the fleet to its fate and focus on other priorities."

Caprica thought back, trying to recall the snippets of information that had been coming over the Colonial comms on the last day of the Colonial Rescue Mission. "Based on the few transmissions we could hear when Galen was piloting our ship to Pegasus, I think a significant number of Cylons were killed on that day of battle—they had no hope of resurrection. A massacre of our race could have generated renewed hatreds for the humans. They might want to exact a specific revenge."

"There's no reason to believe something_ that_ horrifichappened, Caprica!" Boomer was alarmed by this idea; it made her afraid. She didn't know how to accept the concept of _death_ for Cylons on any scale.

"We'll have to ask Gaius. Hopefully he'll be able to tell us what actually happened—how the Colonials managed to escape that day."

"In the meantime, we shouldn't waste time on further speculation of Cylon plans; it just leads to misery. Why don't you take your shower, and then we can get started, comparing our notes for the FTL specs."

Caprica nodded. "It'll feel good to have something useful to do." The two women set about getting ready for the work ahead.

**Sit Rep: Lee Adama's Private Quarters, Pegasus, Eight Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Slowly unbuttoning his uniform jacket as he entered their quarters, Lee was unsettled momentarily when he didn't see Kara, but then he registered the sound of the shower running. He was grateful to get out of the formal military garb; it felt strange to wear the clothes when he wasn't really involved in military activities for the time being. Dr. Martin had approved him for a return to administrative duty, and he had taken some shifts in the CIC, but for the most part, he'd been leading the talks with the insurgents and guiding the dialogue on how to revamp the government to reflect the new realities of life in space.

He was enjoying the work, when he gave himself the space to admit it; Lee also knew, though, that the next time the claxons sounded announcing a Cylon attack, he'd be frustrated that he couldn't get out there in the fight. It wasn't that he wanted to risk his life, per se, but he missed that adrenaline rush and sense of immediacy—where you knew in a split second if you'd made the right call or not and success was countable—how many raiders taken out, how many minutes surviving in battle.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Lee stripped down and considered surprising Kara in the shower. For the first time he could remember, he and Kara were alone together on a regular basis—and they were taking advantage of it. It often felt like they were earnestly making up for every previously missed opportunity—every wet dream, every fantasy, every sexually charged moment they'd denied themselves before. The more they had, the more they wanted. And Lee tried to make sure he reveled in each moment, knowing the depth of longing he'd been living with for so many years.

He was already rock hard by the time he reached the shower, and her smile when she saw him slip into the space behind her was all the encouragement he needed. As he pressed against her back, she laughed wickedly.

"I was just about to take matters into my own hands…glad you're here instead," she said playfully.

"Ummmm. I know where my hands want to wander…." he murmured before he kissed her neck. His fingers danced from her waist up to her breasts, stroking lightly. He grinned as he felt her lean into him, his fingertips kneading her nipples as his erection twitched in the small of her back. Dragging one hand slowly down her torso, he toyed with her curls before sliding his middle finger to the right spot, applying just enough pressure to draw a low moan as Kara tilted her head back.

He alternated his attention to each nipple as he rhythmically stroked her, letting his nails flicker across the most sensitive point at random moments. He lowered his mouth against her neck, his tongue mercilessly working the erogenous zone just above her spine. Closing his eyes, Lee listened to the erotic sound of her panting breaths and soft whimpers as she came to the brink. He was so worked up, it was difficult to control his own demands, but he knew Kara would give as good as she got.

She arched back, a guttural, staccato cry escaping as she climaxed. Not yet even steady on her feet, she reached behind as she bent over, guiding him inside. He growled as the intense pleasure hit him, the way his shaft slid in slowly and the heat and pressure wrapped his length.

Kara braced her hands against the wall, shuddering with the power of the sensation of his entry. No matter how many times she'd experienced this in recent days, it never stopped surprising her, the depth, the angle, the sheer ecstasy of making love with Lee. Her mind floated back to that morning at the Academy, when he'd taken her exactly the same way and she'd first understood how much trouble she was in, the way she responded to this man, the way they moved in synch until there was no separation. She sucked in her lip in anticipation, as he began thrusting in long, fluid moves, his fingers grasping her hips possessively.

He withdrew unexpectedly, and Kara protested at the loss; she was drawn to face Lee. He kissed her deeply, waiting until she was breathless before holding her to the wall and lifting her to ease over him again, regaining their rhythm as her legs tightened around him. Lost in the experience, his arms holding her close, nuzzling her as she clasped his neck, he came, the release as potent emotionally as it was physically. She followed, her breath catching as she felt her body let go.

Turning the water off, they staggered out of the shower, grabbing towels and quickly moving to the bed, their legs still uncertain under them. For a few minutes, satiated, they just enjoyed the closeness, drifting into a light sleep. About a half hour later, Lee opened his eyes and found Kara's arm draped over his chest, her body turned on her stomach. He nudged her awake.

"Hey," she responded, turning towards him, still drowsy.

"Hi," Lee said as he brushed her hair from her face. "Tell me why we weren't doing this a long time ago? This is just…"

"I know. I can't quite wrap my mind around it either, how good we actually are together. Not only the—"

"Not just the _amazing_ frakking…"

She smacked him playfully. "Well, pretty good."

He slapped her lightly on the ass. "You crush my ego, Starbuck."

She chuckled, sitting up a bit. "Not possible, I'm afraid. So…what were you working on today, all dressed in your Commander mode?"

"Half a shift in the CIC, then meetings and more meetings." He made a face feigning boredom.

"I don't know how you stand it, Apollo. The endless arguments over stupid points of order…"

"It's not that bad," Lee answered quickly, wondering what she would think if he actually ran for office.

Kara scoffed at his comment. "I'd rather scrub the latrines than listen to that."

"Yeah, but then words and talking have never exactly been your favorite activity," Lee countered genially.

"True enough," Kara offered. "But I watch you—a part of you is actually sort of enjoying this stuff, aren't you?" She was looking at him intently, a genuine question in her eyes.

"I am. It's challenging, but…there's a real sense of accomplishment when you can get people to agree on how to move forward. There's an excitement with the work we're doing at this point—creating something based on our Colonial past, yet reflecting our new configuration and new priorities."

"Listen to you, all dreamy-eyed about ideals and government. Just don't get too caught up in it, 'cause someday you'll need to get back to your 'day' job, Commander." Kara smiled as she spoke the words, but Lee could hear the irritation in her voice.

"You don't see me as a political wonk, crafting policy?" He braced himself for what she might toss out as a retort.

" Comm'on, Lee—what a question! You've proven yourself a great military officer, a pretty damned good pilot, and we're still in a fight for survival here. You don't have a background in law or politics; you're a soldier. And that's where we need you. You haven't really bought into all of the 'presidency' crap, have you? I'd really have to give you an attitude adjustment, if you've been smoking those fumes!"

She was indignant now, sitting up and running her hands through her hair in consternation at the idea. Lee watched her reaction, his stomach tightening. He'd honestly left his conversation with Helo believing it was the right thing to run for office, but he hadn't expected Kara to be so negative about the idea, or about his chances at making a go of it.

Unsure of himself, and not wanting to ruin the atmosphere between them, Lee decided he wouldn't say anything else yet. "No attitude adjustment needed, thanks. I've seen what you'd do."

Kara smiled more brightly at that answer. "That's a relief-I have a busy schedule. Not sure how I'd have fit that in, straightening out your sorry ass."

Changing the subject to updates on people they both knew, time passed quickly until they were ready for sleep. As Lee settled in with Kara and listened to her soft breaths, he tried to manage his anxiety about what would come next. He needed to be sure he understood why he might really run for office; after all, he was likely to get as much push-back from his father as he had from Kara, and there was a lot to risk. Lee was in a good place with two people who were very important to him, and he'd have to be much more certain about the reasons for making a move to leave the military and seek the presidency.

**Sit Rep: Science Lab Under Guard, Pegasus, Nine Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Driven to wretched frustration, Gaius shoved all of the objects on the lab bench aside, heedless to the breaking glass and chemical solutions spilling on the floor. He hung his head in despondency, unable to stop the anguish from burning in the back of his throat, threatening to overwhelm his control.

The attempts to develop a cancer treatment that might work on Roslin's type of carcinoma were failing utterly. He'd underestimated the complexity of the issues, especially given the limitations in available chemical compounds and ways to manipulate them. Even glass was precious; he had been utterly foolish to allow anything to break just moments ago.

Despite the copious amounts of sand on that godsforsaken planet they'd left, no one had considered the importance of bringing it along. Cottle had figured sand bags were loaded aboard some of the ships, surely, during the exodus, but none were readily located and no one cared enough about the work of a pariah to push for an actual search. With great effort, a proper furnace had been built on New Caprica to melt the sand and blow glass; that had probably been left behind. Even if Gaius could get his hands on the material, he wouldn't be able form new glass without the right tools, and he needed so many laboratory instruments—test tubes, microscope slides, a condenser, not to mention more beakers of various sizes. This wasn't a laboratory, it was a shell of one, and he wondered how he was supposed to make progress with the obstacles before him.

As Baltar began to carefully clean up the mess he'd made, cursing himself for his temper, he assessed his situation. The only thing that had been progressing was his development of the model for the potential Cylon bio-weapon; he'd finally succeeded in creating a "dead" version of the molecule, and felt it was only a matter of time before he could determine the missing aspect for a "live" version.

The key to that research, though, ultimately rested in understanding how those damned Cylon nanites worked. As Baltar sat down at the lab bench, listlessly scanning his files on the laptop he'd brought with him from New Caprica, he kept turning over the nanite problem in his mind. Neither he nor the Cylons had ever been able to isolate and "unlock" a single nanite. The nanotechnology worked perfectly, to the level of its design, as frightening as that was to observe in action.

Its greatest strength—perfect copying—was also its greatest limitation. For the ten thousandth time, Gaius tried to reason out the grander design behind the use of the nanites. All things in nature evolved—mutations were introduced, for better or worse, and survival often depended on improvisation. So why would the creators of the human-Cylon models opt for a non-adaptive "organism?" And why wouldn't the secret to nanite design have been provided to those Cylons? Who were these creators?

Equally puzzling, there were only three instances where nature had evaded the nanotechnology's abilities to eradicate anomalies: the two virus incidents Gaius had learned about, and the Cylon-human pregnancy of Sharon Valierii. What did those three things have in common?

With some nervous excitement, Gaius searched for the files that provided three-dimensional models of nanite groups. They normally appeared in clusters of hundreds, but occasionally, there were smaller groupings numbering in the 'teens. He pulled up a video of one of the smallest groupings, then magnified the view to 100,000X. He stared at the video play, watching the movement, the way the nanites appeared to "shuffle" together, and noticed small arcs of electricity flickering between them. That was apparently how they communicated, similar to nerve firings, only there were no chemical receptors involved—were there?

He re-played the video in slow motion, and concentrated on the visible mechanisms in the translucent objects. They appeared alive, and in a sense, they were, just the way the human-Cylons themselves were mechanical and alive at the same time. He could see something that appeared to be a liquid swirling along a particular pathway; he could observe the arcs of electricity pinpointing specific "dots" in various sequences.

An insight occurred to him: what if he could interrupt those arcs? In fact, what if he could somehow stop all of the "communications" between several nanites in a single moment? That might enable him to actually separate one. If he was really lucky, it might even defeat the lock mechanism on that nanite, the defense response that prevented a scientist from dissecting it. Until now, the Cylons hadn't been able to scrutinize the nanites even in their groupings because of this defense mechanism. No one would be able to reprogram the single unit until the nanite was isolated and its functioning was understood.

A rush passed through Gaius as he realized the avenue he needed to pursue now, to solve the bio-weapon problem, the cancer treatment problem, and the procreation problem. He had to put all of his efforts into solving the mysteries of the nanite. He knew, when he'd used the umbilical cord cells to treat Roslin's cancer two years earlier, the application had worked for a time. It stood to reason the effect was linked to the nanites doing their work fixing the "errors" in the cancer cells. The question he had to figure out was why that stopped—what changed?

Perhaps it had something to do with the relative "age" of the nanites. They were bio-mechanisms; they might not mutate, but that didn't mean they didn't "grow" or mature. To date, the Cylons wouldn't know; they created replicas that were fully adult in development; the nanites began at the mature stage. Hera, though, as a human-Cylon hybrid, had obviously started out as a fetus, growing into a baby and continuing to mature in a normal human timeline (at least it appeared that way).

Maybe there was something different in the "young" nanite. If Gaius could isolate and compare single nanites of each type, he would likely be able to meet his three goals in fairly short order.

For now, all he'd have access to were "adult" nanites in Cylons. Caprica and Boomer were going to begin working in this same lab tomorrow; he could surely get blood samples from them. It was unfortunate the child Hera had perished; otherwise, he would have been able to study her blood sample too. No tissue remained from the umbilical cord either, since the small amount of material he'd preserved originally had been on Galactica, which no longer existed.

Nonetheless, Gaius reasoned, he might be able to accomplish his aims. It all depended on isolating the mecho-organism and using the knowledge of the virus to help him figure out how to disable the organism or modify it. This approach had limitless potential, really—addressing various types of illnesses, creating a weakness in Cylons, and providing a bargaining chip with them regarding their reproduction/resurrection issues.

It would be a boon to humans, if he could do what he planned; it would be like a limitless supply of stem cells. Theoretically—and assuming humans would accept the injection of Cylon technology to literally become a part of their bodies—nanites could be programmed to slow aging, if not stop it entirely; support re-growth of tissue, organs, even limbs; and serve as the ultimate defense against diseases, eliminating the need for things like antibiotics.

In a life dictated by the continual hunt for very scarce resources, nanite modification might be a solution for many issues that plagued the existence of a motley group of humans living endlessly in space who never had the luxury to settle down and build anything. It might also ensure humans would survive long enough to reach a destination—Earth or whatever the Colonials decided they would nominate as "Earth" one day.

Gaius smiled; he might just been seen as a hero if he could pull this off. The thought amused him and spurred his energy. He was ready to begin this research in earnest.

As soon as the smile lessened, Gaius experienced a strange sensation behind his eyes, almost as though there was a surge of electricity across his corpus callosum. That was ridiculous, of course, since the brain did not have its own pain receptors, but what was happening? He immediately though it might be eye strain….until he heard her voice.

"Hello, Gaius. You're looking much better than the last time we met. Congratulations on finding the path at last."

"Viv—Vivian? Is that really you? Gods, how I've longed for you…"

"_God_, Gaius—give thanks to the one God. I've missed you too." She came into view from behind the lab bench.

"Does this mean Starbuck found her path too?" he asked, remembering Vivian's last words to him.

"It does, indeed. The time's approaching for the six of you to step under the watchful gaze of Jupiter. The humans will find Jupiter's Eye in a matter of months; you, however, need to hurry in your specific work, because your window is shorter."

"Mm-my window's what?" Gaius was unnerved and for some reason frightened by her words, even though he'd been hoping for a long time be with her again.

"Your window of opportunity is limited. They'll be coming for you soon, my love, and they need these answers as much as the humans do."

"Who does, Vivian—what answers?"

"You already know what answers they seek. And you realized a long time ago this isn't meant to be your home—not yet." Vivian walked over to Gaius and began stroking his hair. She kissed him, deeply, and he eagerly let his hands reach for more, but she broke away from the embrace before he could get far.

"I love you, Gaius. I want you to be able to connect with a real woman, someone who'll be there to support you in ways I can't."

"_You_ are a real woman, Vivian—I can't imagine anyone more—"

"I meant 'real' in the sense of corporeal, Gaius—tangible, permanent. More than a projection in your mind." She pulled Gaius into a close embrace.

"You feel completely tangible, my love," he said breathlessly, eyes closed, reveling in her touch.

Yanking Balter's head back, pulling hard on his hair, Vivian stared down at his surprised face, shaking her head 'no.' "I'm more than your imagination or wishful thinking, and yet less than a living being. It isn't enough, and it won't be in the future either. Besides, I was never meant to be more than a guide. And a reminder of the one connection you know is true, the one connection you actually invested in—despite your denials now."

"A guide from where?" Gaius was working hard to focus on her messages, because he had the distinct feeling she was explaining something he needed to finally accept, to see things as they really were.

"From God, my love. I've never deviated on that point, have I?"

"No…I don't suppose you have. And the reminder of the connection—who's that?"

"Oh, Gaius. For a smart man, you are just so…look at me. Who am I?"

"Your'e Vivian," he hissed, beginning to chafe under her condescension.

"No, that's the name you gave me, though it's always been a bit hard to fathom why. Who was I to you before?"

"I…you were…you look like Caprica. Or Six. Or whatever 'name' she would go by." He spoke in a pained voice; it was never easy, thinking about that history.

"Exactly. Every single thing has a meaning and a purpose, Gaius. You think of her, of Caprica, as your downfall, but that's not really the truth. She was the mirror to help you finally see your flaws, comprehend your failures. But mirrors reflect everything—the good, the bad, and things still inchoate. As much as she exposed of your shadow self, she can reveal of your best self."

Gaius lunged towards Vivian, gesturing angrily. "I'm getting tired of this talk! I am in love with you—I don't want anyone else, and I certainly don't want to be reminded of a person who—"

"Shhhh. Shhhh. There's no need for so much turmoil, Gaius." She gave him a gentle, soft kiss. In his ear, she whispered, "it's time to remember her, the two of you, the way you felt around her before everything. It's why you pursued Gina…it's why you're angry now. Caprica meant a great deal to you. She still does."

"No, no, Vivian, you're wrong…" He clung to her, tears falling.

"Is it coincidence, out of the multitude of variables surrounding your arrival here, that Caprica ended up in the same place? That's as much happenstance as Lee Adama and Kara Thrace ending up at the same place. God is present, Gaius, and there are no accidents. Never forget that." She placed her mouth over his, letting her tongue dance as he swept her into his arms completely, lingering that way for several minutes.

Reluctantly letting go, Vivian turned away. Head over her shoulder, she gave him a smile. "I need to leave you to your work. I'll visit again, when God knows I can be of help. The research must be finished quickly, my love, and you need to also be prepared for the Eye of Jupiter."

Gaius closed his eyes against the pain as she vanished, his face streaked with more tears.

**Sit Rep: Tory's Private Quarters, Pegasus, Nine Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Tory kicked off her shoes as soon as the hatch shut and rushed to get her jacket off. She reached under her shirt to undo her bra and wove the straps over her arms to yank it off in one smooth movement. In short order, she'd pulled on a pair of cotton knit leggings and swept a long-sleeved sweater over her head. With a long sigh, she sank onto the bed, swinging her legs up and stretching out.

Eyes closed, Tory reflected on recent events, trying to assess her feelings. When she'd met with Lee Adama a few hours ago, she hadn't expected anything extraordinary—they'd been working together on the communications plan, finalizing it for distribution. She'd thought he might bring up running for the presidency—Laura Roslin had certainly been making preparations as though she predicted he would agree to it sooner or later—and she'd already determined she wasn't going to participate. She doubted, still, that he would have wanted her involved anyway, but she had been prepared with her explanation, just in case.

What the Commander brought up instead stunned her. In a way, it was an answer to prayers for a different life, a new start. But it was also daunting and hardly something she felt prepared for. To accept the assignment also meant working closely with someone she didn't know—Anastasia Dualla. Could they handle the job Lee Adama wanted them to do?

Tory was familiar with many parts of Lee's plan for the "floating nation"—the intent to identify skills and talents of all of the remaining fleet members, organize training, apprenticeships, and schools, and then find work for every person. Structuring that, however, was a huge undertaking. She still couldn't quite understand how he had decided on her, even though Lee had provided a detailed justification.

Reflecting on the conversation, Tory considered his reasoning. Lee had explained that both Bill Adama and Laura Roslin were impressed with Tory's work with the Resistance on New Caprica; Sam had said she was able to handle significant pressures and served as an important conduit in bringing messages and keeping up relations to deflect suspicions. The Commander thought those were the qualities needed for this new undertaking. With her public relations and communications background, she understood how to frame ideas and decisions.

Captain Dualla was also skilled in working with many different groups of people and helping individuals focus on unifying goals. Dualla's previous responsibilities gave her a platform to learn a great deal about every ship in the fleet and develop a deep understanding of the work that needed to be done to create a fully functioning society, especially from a supply and services perspective. Finally, the officer's attention to detail would be invaluable in a project as complex as this one would turn out to be.

Lee had made one other important point: Tory, having lived on New Caprica and served in the Resistance, partnered with Anastasia, who had been instrumental in planning and leading the Rescue—civilian and military working together—would provide the visible balance and integration needed to project credibility and build trust among the people.

In the beginning, Lee envisioned Tory and Ana would spend their time working on plans and meeting with different groups and individuals to gather information and develop a strategy and timeline. During this development phase, the Commander would train a junior officer to take over Dualla's responsibilities; for at least twelve to eighteen months after the new officer was in place, Dualla and Tory could focus exclusively on the project to launch and implement it fleet-wide. He had tentatively given the project a name: FutureWork.

Tory was struck by Lee's compassion; he'd asked her to think about the idea for the next two weeks and encouraged her to meet with Ana Dualla to get a better sense of how their partnership might work. She was already leaning towards agreeing to take on the role, but Tory worried about the scope of the job ahead. It felt so far beyond her capacities, and she didn't want to fail the Commander or the members of the fleet. So much would be riding on the outcome of this experiment in society-building, including the creation of a bounded economy.

A knock at the hatch surprised Tory. No one usually came to see her at this hour. With a groan of consternation, she got up and opened the door, shying away slightly at the unexpected sight of Sam Anders standing to meet her.

"Hi, Tory. I know it's been a while…"

"Yeah, it has. We've all been busy," she offered, not wanting to rebuff him directly.

"Um, I know it's unplanned, but I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes…if this is an okay time?" His voice was uncharacteristically tentative.

She gave him a tired smile, gesturing him inside. "I've got a little while, but I need to get to sleep soon—too many meetings to get through tomorrow to be fuzzy in my thinking."

Sam nodded as he stepped through. The room was small—a bunk along one wall, a closet at the end, and a wide ledge that served as a desk, with a chair tucked underneath. It was cozy, though—somehow Tory had managed to find some colorful coverlets, a real lamp for the desk, and a few items to put up on the walls that made it look more inviting and less military. With only the desk lamp on, everything was soft around the edges, smudged in shadows.

Figuring sitting on the bed would be too invasive, Sam pulled out the chair, sitting at an angle to the bed so he could face her and still stretch his legs out. Tory moved onto the bed, pulling her knees up to wrap her arms around her legs as she leaned against the bulkhead.

"So tell me how you've been doing, Sam—how's it been working out, this assignment with the Marines?"

"It's been tense, to say the least, with the threats of the insurgents and Lee's kidnapping, but now, things have settled a bit, and truthfully, I appreciate the people I'm working with. They've treated me with more respect than I'd have expected, and that means something."

"Are you going to continue there?" Tory was grateful he was willing to talk about straightforward subjects, for the moment.

"Umm, yeah. At least, that seems to be how things are heading. Supposedly the Admiral is going to ask me to officially sign up."

"You mean, join the military formally?"

"As a Marine. I never pictured myself as a soldier, but since the end of the worlds, that's how I've spent much of my time—fighting and protecting people and places—so I guess it's as good a spot as any to end up. I need to have some purpose, something that makes me feel like I'm not just taking up space."

Tory studied his face. "Sam, you've done so much already, and you're always there to reach out and help—you've never just taken up space."

Sam closed his eyes, emotions shifting across his features. "Well, I'm not so sure of that. Ever since Starbuck originally rescued the group of us…even all that time on New Caprica before the Cylons came…I sort'a felt like a third wheel. Not quite belonging anywhere, y'know? I never felt I had much to offer—I was a Pyramid player because that was the only set of skills I thought were worth anything to anyone."

"Believe me, Sam, I understand those feelings. I don't agree with your assessment, though—you've got much more to offer. And no one saw you as a 'third wheel' during the Resistance—it was clear how much the Admiral, Roslin, and Zarek trusted you and cared about you. We'd never have made it back here without your leadership and quick thinking—that's not an exaggeration."

Startled by the intensity in her voice, Sam allowed himself to look directly at Tory again. He thought he saw deep emotion there, but wondered if he was just hoping, filling in what he wanted to see.

"Thanks, Tory. You've always been generous with your praise, and I value your opinion." He offered a small smile. "Now, tell me about you…I've been a little worried, honestly, because you've seemed…tense." He ventured his chair a bit closer to the bed.

She nodded. "I've been thinking a lot lately, and not sleeping well either. It's never a good combination."

Reaching forward, Sam gently took her hand, as she shifted positions and tucked her feet under her. "So, I'm here…talk to me. I remain your friend, Tory, devoted as ever."

She was caught in his gaze, the warmth in his eyes and his voice contrasting with the anxiety she could sense in him just below the surface.

"It hasn't been the same since…I _need_ you, Sam," she found herself saying before she could think better of it. Slightly embarrassed, she quickly added, "your friendship."

"Me too." He was struck with the impulse to change places, to sit beside her on the bed, and he decided he was going to be that forward, after all.

Tory continued holding his hand as she explained, in a low voice, what Lee Adama had shared with her earlier.

"You'd be wonderful in that position, Tory—I really hope you'll consider taking it."

"Sam, I need you to be honest—do you see me doing that kind of work? It's such a large-scale project—"

"Which you are very capable of handling and will manage with your usual quiet resolve. Lee's even smarter than I gave him credit for, if he realizes you're the person with the right talents to take on something I think is pretty important to him."

Tory smiled, her head tilted back as she laughed softly. "That's one of the things I admire about you, Sam Anders. Your generosity of spirit. By all rights, you should be angry as hell at Lee Adama, and here you are, giving him a compliment."

"I'm not so noble as that, Tory. I still hate him…in moments. But it turns out—well, it just turns out that Lee and Kara have a history most people didn't know about. Including me. And if I'd realized the extent of that past, I probably wouldn't have married Kara when I did." He let out a long exhale, the revelations of the last days spilling out.

"She proposed to me, and like a kid, I said yes without wondering why or asking the right questions. I was living in the moment—which is fine, as far as it goes—but sometimes it's important to really get to know someone. I mean, their heart—what drives them, leading them one place or running away from another."

"I'm sorry, Sam, that it didn't…that she wasn't able to…commit to you." She lightly stroked his arm.

They sat silently for a while, dealing with their personal wounds and appreciating the value of having someone else there who understood what the costs had been. Tory, her eyes drifting shut, shook herself into alertness and stood up, offering her hand out to Sam to help him stand as well.

He grabbed her hand and groaned as his tired muscles complained over the change in positions. He over-compensated for the momentum, and pulled into Tory. She fell back slightly; he gripped her shoulders to steady her. Standing so close, he was sure he felt an electricity between them, something more than friendship. He kept his hands on her arms, rubbing lightly, watching to see if she stepped back for more distance. She didn't.

Tilting her head to look up at him, Tory searched his eyes, trying to figure out where they stood. The sexual tension was suddenly obvious and she knew she should break the contact and encourage him to go, but she just couldn't bring herself to take the steps.

"Tory," Sam began, his voice resonating with feeling. "I know you were spooked by what happened when…and I can handle it if you just want friendship—yours is worth so much to me. But I have feelings for you, other feelings…they go beyond that and it's more than just attraction. I need you to know, to understand…because I wouldn't use you, or push you, or—"

She leaned in, her head resting on his chest, arms slipping around his waist. He gratefully pressed her warmth against him, kissing the top of her head gently.

"Sam," she murmured, hesitancy in her tone, "I'm in the same place. But it just seems like it would be a re-bound relationship, and that could leave us in an uncomfortable situation, potentially ruining our friendship. When you realize its no substitute for being with the person you love—"

He pulled her chin up to look into her eyes, then bent down to kiss her. It was supple, exploratory, with a genuine openness he hoped would quell Tory's fears. Her hands touched his face, her lips moving with more urgency as she yielded to the sensations.

Pulling back lightly, a soft sound of release escaping her lips, Tory closed her eyes briefly before asking, "Can you stay, and just hold me?"

Sam nodded, saying nothing as he smoothly took off his boots and his casual jacket before sliding his arms around Tory's body, gently lifting her into the bunk. He let her arrange herself comfortably on her side, then moved in to fold himself over her as he pulled up the covers.

"Okay?" he whispered.

"More than okay," she offered, lifting his hand to her lips and entwining her arm with his.

He moved close to her exposed right ear, breathing softly as he struggled with the right words to express what he'd been thinking. "This isn't the same as a rebound, reactive thing. I've been in those, and I know the difference. I don't know what'll happen next between us, Tory; we've both been through a lot and I realize we'll have things to sort through. But whatever this is, this connection between us, it's _real._

"And I wouldn't've been able to acknowledge it before, but ever since we made love, I've understood—I've felt something deep for you from the moment you saved my life on New Caprica, risking so much to get me into that Cylon hospital, staying there right next to me until I was really out of the woods. So I promise you, we'll move slowly, because that connection is strong and we'll figure things out if we give ourselves room."

Squeezing his arm tightly, Tory didn't say anything. Sam closed his eyes, allowing his own exhaustion to have sway, and then he snapped awake as he realized she was responding. "You're right—it's real between us. And I'm glad you're here, that you stayed, Sam."

"Me too," he acknowledged, kissing her ear. "Try and sleep now, Tory. We're safe and warm and _together_."

**Sit Rep: Dr. Martin's Quarters, Pegasus, Ten Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Dr. Martin welcomed Lee Adama into the room, offering him some tea. It was real, after a fashion—she'd managed to purchase some dried leaves from a man who'd lived on New Caprica and he had sworn the taste would be similar to tea. He hadn't lied, and she'd discovered the brew had a beneficial side effect, calming nerves. Much like chamomile, she thought. Hopefully it would work its magic with the Commander, who looked ready to jump out of his own skin at present.

"So, Lee, you seem a bit worked up today. What's on your mind?"

He pulled on the legs of his pants, shifting in the chair. "Something I've avoided talking about until now, but have to deal with."

She waited patiently for Lee to work up the resolve to continue.

"There's been a lot of talk about me…people wanting Lee Adama to become President."

She let the sentence hang in the air for a minute, before asking, "What have your own thoughts been on this?"

"In the beginning, it was anathema to me. I didn't see myself wanting anything to do with that kind of life."

"You said, 'in the beginning'—how do you see things now?" She warmed up his cup of tea.

He clenched his fists, struggling with a way to explain his internal conflicts without also sounding like a delusional leader with fantasies of divine appointment. "Several people who are important to me have challenged my view of myself—my interests and my skills. They've encouraged me to put aside my doubts and step out there."

"But these people, though important, aren't the voices that matter most to you, I'm guessing." She could see the uncertainty in his face.

"No—I suppose that's an accurate way of putting it," Lee conceded with a sigh.

"What does Kara say, Lee?"

"Well, I haven't discussed it with her directly, but even mentioning the idea in passing, she was clearly of the mind I'm needed in my military role."

"Was that all she said?" His level of anxiety didn't match that straightforward statement.

"It wasn't what she stated, it was the way she stressed it. She saw it as an ego trip if I bought into the whole thing."

"Doesn't it strike you that Kara might approach the idea that way because she's always viewed both of you as pilots—Starbuck and Apollo—and it frightens her to consider that dynamic changing?"

Lee acknowledged that. "But her opinion about it matters to me, no matter how she arrived at it."

"You have to live your life based on an internal compass, Lee, not according to the desire of others. That road leads to dissatisfaction and anger—you've already traveled that way." She spoke slowly and with compassion, hoping he took in the meaning. "Which begs the question…"

"I'm not clear about it; I feel exhausted just thinking about all of the elements—"

"You need to stop thinking, Lee. What do you _feel _is your path at this juncture?"

"That doesn't seem the right approach, Dr. Martin—this is a decision that has to be reasoned out, weighing the pros and—"

"Really? Is that working, Lee? See, I believe you do know what you want to do. You don't think it, you sense it—a feeling—a surety of purpose. Commander, military—President, civilian. Where are _you_ called—not where others try to beckon, but where you are _drawn to go_?" Dr. Martin was careful not to raise her voice as she challenged him—this was a delicate process and she had to coax him into finding his own answers.

Lee went silent, his eyes shut in concentration. He slowed his breathing, using the techniques he'd learned long ago from the post-traumatic stress counselor to quiet his mind. It was vital to be in the present moment, to see what came to the surface when he wasn't struggling with himself. In seconds, he was able to hear Dr. Martin's shallow inhale, as well as the carefully pitched hum of Pegasus' main engines. The light whoosh of the ventilation system lifted the hair on his neck slightly.

"I want to help the people in a new way… to serve as President." He opened his eyes, taking in a deep gulp of air.

"Good, Lee. What do you sense now, internally?" She could see the tensions had left his body, and hoped he would recognize the shift.

"I'm…the anxiety's subsided. I don't have the knots in my stomach anymore." He gave Dr. Martin a forceful look. "I_ did_ _know_ the answer," Lee said almost under his breath.

"Now, your task is to let those closest to you know of your choice. Trust them, Lee—convey your certainty, and they'll accept what you're doing as the natural path, what fits you as a person. Those who love you want you to be true to yourself; it may take a little time, but they'll accept the decision, whether or not they embrace it."

**Sit Rep: Gym, Pegasus, Ten Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Nervously, Lee grabbed the boxing equipment as they entered the room reserved for practice. Kara seemed to be in a reasonably good mood, which gave him a better chance for a positive outcome, but he understood she was likely to react in a hostile way to what he needed to tell her. He figured this way, when she went to deck him, he'd be prepared and he wouldn't feel guilty for taking a swipe in return.

"Okay, so you remember this is just for the exercise, right? No stakes, no winners…"

"Yeah, yeah, Apollo, I got it. You wanna protect your pretty face," Kara countered a little dismissively.

"Well, more like I want to save my much-abused leg that I wounded saving _your_ pretty face," Lee whipped out amiably. "I know you like to play a little dirty, knocking people on their asses, and I'd rather not go there." He smiled as he started putting his gloves on.

"Fine, I'll at least leave you standing," she challenged as she began preparations too.

Suited up, they began circling each other. Lee was a little worried he'd left out his mouth guard, but he wasn't going to be able to talk otherwise, and he couldn't afford to lose this opportunity to explain his plans. Announcements were going to be coming out in another few days, and he had to handle the fallout with Kara, if that's what it was going to be.

She got a few decent jabs in before he landed one with her; he didn't want to piss her off before he even launched into his real agenda. They sparred for a few minutes, and he finally worked up the courage to start talking.

"So, I've been thinking a lot about the future," he began, his voice a little breathless from the exertions.

Kara raised an eyebrow, and circled again, taking a swing. She didn't say anything, though, and Lee pressed forward.

"Before the end of the worlds, I was going to leave the military."

"I remember," she said, her face growing slightly more wary.

"And I spend some time studying Colonial constitutional law—"

"When in the frak did you do that?" She was genuinely surprised.

"In my last months in the test pilot program; I was taking some classes at night and I'd set up an internship with the courts in Caprica City, so I was studying up to begin work there."

"Where's this going, Lee?" Kara said, stopping her movements for a moment. A little desperate, Lee landed a jab on her face, forcing her to start up again and guard her front.

"When I put the Restoration Plan together, I had a vision for what the fleet could be, to learn to do more than just survive. And I've realized I want to make that a reality."

"Get to the frakking point, Adama," Kara hissed, working harder to land a few blows. She clearly had an idea where this conversation was headed, and she wasn't happy about it.

"I've decided to run for the presidency, Kara," Lee announced with more confidence than he felt.

Her right hook landed on his chin, and he staggered back, realizing the swings were increasing in speed and intensity.

"Guess you figured out I don't support this, flyboy," she spat out as she went after him in earnest. "Smart planning, though—this way your black eye's explainable."

He grunted as a firm punch in the gut sent him doubling over. He managed to stay upright and shuffled backwards to miss the next hit aimed at his chest. With great effort, he managed to return the damage, knocking her in the ribs three times. She struggled to catch her breath. Lee paused to assess her condition; she took the advantage, squarely landing one the left side of his face. Blood began running from his eye and his nose.

Without warning, Kara stopped altogether, shaking her head as she used her teeth to loosen the gloves.

"Kara, don't walk off! Why the frak does this piss you off so much?" Lee hurried to get his gloves off as well, knowing he might have one chance to catch her arm before she stormed out of the room.

She spun around, her eyes full of fury and anxiety. "Don't do this, Lee. If you want this relationship, if you want there to be an us, don't put yourself out there like that!"

"Why? Why the ultimatum, Kara? What the frak is this to you?" He was torn between rage and abject fear; something in her voice told him she meant what she was implying.

"Gods, Lee, you can be so frakking stupid! If you run for office, where would that leave me? Do you think I'd be some arm drapery, charming congressional members for you? Could you honestly see me as a politician's wife?" She was gesturing wildly, moving into his space.

"And if you're on another ship, what then? Right now, I don't even know if I'll be able to fly again; I'm sure as hell not leaving the military. I did that once, and lived to regret it. There's nowhere else where I can go, Lee, nowhere else I belong. If you were to become president, I'd be left behind. I have no interest in tagging along on your star, and you're frakking insane if you think I'll help you do this!" She started crying, the anger and pain burning.

Lee tried to stop her before she undogged the hatch, but he was struggling to see, with blood in his eye, and his nose was beginning to gush, leaving him light-headed. He fought back the tears as he grabbed a towel, holding it against his face as he headed to Life Station. She'd already run down some corridor by the time he stepped outside the room; he lumbered to sickbay, grief-stricken.

Two hours later, with three stitches to his eye and his nose taped up for the second time in a month, Lee wearily entered their quarters. It was late, and as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he realized Kara had already gone to sleep, choosing the single bunk that was originally hers. He took a shower to wash the blood and sweat off, and to mask the sobs wracking his body. She'd run away before; he'd just given her the perfect opening to do it again, and he still couldn't comprehend the fact she was that ready to break things off if he decided to go ahead with this plan. He felt as trapped as he'd ever been, in a way he'd never actually expected; his father had insisted on the military, and now Kara was acting like that was the only path she'd consider acceptable either.

It was obvious to him he wasn't going to survive another separation from her; if the only way he could stay with her was continuing in the military, he'd do it. But it was also obvious a part of his soul would wither away in the knowledge of that tradeoff—forced, not selected. He wanted to comprehend how he could have misunderstood Kara's values on such a fundamental level. Lee never believed she'd frame things as an ultimatum; not because she hadn't done that before, with other people, but because he truly thought their unspoken pact was different. They'd hurt each other in countless ways, to be sure, but they'd never drawn lines in the sand in that way—"do this or else".

He fell into the bed, the absence of her warmth keenly felt. Reluctantly, his body yielded to sleep.

**Sit Rep: Lee Adama's Private Quarters, Pegasus, Ten Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Waking up, for the first minute Lee felt normal, before memories of the previous evening's events came into mind and weighed down his spirits. He sat up, noticing Kara was gone. It didn't look like she'd taken anything with her, though, suggesting she was planning on coming back later. Gingerly, Lee stood up and stretched, the pain in his face radiating. He walked over to the sink to take a pain killer, staring into the mirror studying his swollen face.

The sound of the hatch opening caused him to start; he turned around to see Kara walking in, her face ashen.

"Went for a run," she declared, quietly. Her breath hitched as she absorbed Lee's appearance.

"Stitches?"

"Um, yeah, three. The nose wasn't re-broken, but given the previous injury this month, the doc thinks I may have to have corrective surgery, at some point, to regain my profile." He gave a brief smile, as much as he could manage, but it hurt too much.

"Well, I have to hand it to you, Apollo—as far as strategies go, using boxing exercise as a way to break bad news was definitely original. Not necessarily wise, but certainly creative."

"I can't say I'd choose it again myself," Lee acknowledged ruefully. "I was hoping it might provide a way for us to 'talk' it out, but I guess that was a crazy idea."

"It wasn't a loss, Lee. I got my anger out first, by the time I walked out—"

"Glad to be of service there," he interjected sarcastically.

"Let me finish…I got my anger out, and could actually reflect on things afterward."

Lee looked at her, a small hope rising in his chest. "And what did you come up with?"

Kara moved to the couch, sitting down, and indicated she'd like Lee to come next to her. Leaning over her legs, elbows on her thighs, Kara sighed deeply.

"I realize this is important to you, Lee. And I shouldn't have reacted with an ultimatum like that. We agreed we'd see this thing to the finish, wherever it goes. I'm not welching on that."

Kara could see Lee's body physically unclench. "Look, I didn't mean to make you feel caught, the way your father did, about being an officer. I've known for a long time you would've chosen something else, were on your way to something else, before the Second Cylon War. I just…." she struggled to keep control of her emotions.

"I feel so untethered, Lee. Flying is all I ever wanted to do, all I know. Everything's changed, including me, and I can't figure out which way is up. Sometimes I want a drink so bad…"her voice trailed off at the admission, ashamed to confess that out loud.

Not knowing what to say and afraid to do anything that might stop the flow of words, Lee opted to rub her back lightly to acknowledge her pain.

"So…how does this work, Lee? What is Kara Thrace doing, if Lee Adama is President?"

He took her hand, studying the graceful line of her fingers. "Well, I can tell you what she_ isn't _doing—she_ isn't _hanging on anyone else's arm, and she isn't secondary to her partner or anybody else. Although I did notice you used the words 'politician's wife' before—so I can hope that maybe Kara Thrace sees a long-term future with the guy, even if he does end up being a political geek."

Her neck flushing, Kara shifted uncomfortably on the couch, embarrassed she'd let _that_ thought slip out. Every once and a while, she allowed herself to consider the idea of a traditional commitment with Lee, but she never lingered long over that thought, too overwhelmed by the implications and emotions it engendered.

"And if I'm a viper jock, or CAG? And you're on Colonial One? We'd never see each other—"

"First of all, my father developed a relationship with Roslin under similar conditions, so I don't buy the argument we'd be ships passing in the night. Regardless of that point, though, I know I want to see you in my arms every single day of my life from now on, so I wouldn't consider separate quarters acceptable either. I'd insist on remaining on the Pegasus. We'd already set up the space for Hamathos—there's no reason that couldn't work for whomever is President. We could also dock Colonial One inside the Pegasus hanger—it's definitely large enough. I don't see living arrangements as a big obstacle."

Lee reached out his hand to turn Kara's face towards his, peering intently. "But we still haven't touched on the thing that upsets you the most…"

She shook her head 'no.'

"Is it what you said when you talked about being left behind?"

"Yes," Kara managed to get out.

"Kara, you are the love of my life. I don't see any scenario where I'd let you slip away from me again—I've already spent far too much time without you, and I bear the scars to prove it."

"But I can't just be this person attached to someone else, Lee—"

"I don't understand what makes you think I could or would diminish Kara Thrace, the great Starbuck—you can be CAG, or Commander—"

"What if I'm not, though, Lee? What if there's no more Starbuck, and I'm just Kara, a screw-up with nothing to offer? If I can't be the hot-shot pilot any more?"

"Then you'll be Starbuck, the hot-shot of something else. You know, I'd gleefully string your mother up with my bare hands, Kara, for how she convinced you that you have so little value. She was a frakkin' psycho, that woman—she wasn't to be believed then and isn't to be believed now."

Kara's throat stung with the strain of holding her tears back. "I'm afraid Lee," she said almost inaudibly. "I don't know if I'll be able to be the jock I used to be, and I can't see where else I would fit in. It's not like I could teach nuggets if I can't be out there in my own bird, and I can't picture being a knuckle-dragger on a permanent basis either."

"A knuckle-dragger, no, but I could see you as an aeronautical engineer—you've always had an amazing understanding of ship design and function. To this day, when I think about your skill in figuring out how to find the breathing apparatus on that raider when you'd crashed on that planet, let alone learning how to fly that thing, including waggling the wings—I've reflected more than once I'd have died in that godsforsaken place, 'cause I don't have that level of knowledge—never did."

At that, Kara giggled, catching Lee completely off guard. "What's so funny?"

"Well, I'd have to agree you don't have the best memory about ship construction. I saw those blueprints you've been working on for the battlestar, and frankly, they were missing a few things—like half the hydraulics systems!"

Lee turned pale. "How did you see those drawings? I had them in my desk…"

"It was in the unlocked drawer. Don't look so worried—I didn't pry open the locked one! Gods, what do you have in there you'd be so freaked out about?"

"Nothing, just some papers and photos—mementos. And I'm not freaked out that you looked in the desk, I'm just unnerved that somebody actually reviewed those blueprints, those ideas. They weren't ready for anyone to look at…"

"You're wrong there, Apollo. The set-up was fine; it just needed to be fleshed out. Here, I'll show you." Kara got up to pull the file off her shelf, and spread the sheets out across the floor. They both got down on their knees to study the documents together.

"See, I added in the schematics for the hydraulics, and started sketching out the locations for the weapons systems. There's a lot of equipment parts we don't have, but when I talked to Major Parker, he seemed to think we could fashion quite a few of them in the ship-building station on the Pegasus—he said you'd already had a number of machines developed for the finer pieces that were needed for the vipers constructed for the Rescue Mission."

"You talked to Parker about this already?" Lee was really stunned.

"Wasn't that okay?" Kara grew suddenly worried, as she took in the expression on Lee's face. "Sharon had suggested he was the guy who'd know what we could get our hands on…"

Lee chuckled. He gently pulled her towards him, kissing her. "It's fine. It's great, actually. I had no idea you'd been so busy, or that you'd warm to the concept so much. I figured everyone would think it was a ridiculous idea, too far to reach."

"It's a long shot, Apollo—you know that. A lot of things would have to line up to make it happen, and that includes finding planets or asteroids with the right chemical elements, like copper and mercury. But I've had some ideas about how to locate those too, so—"

"Kara," Lee interrupted excitedly as the reality struck him, "I think this is exactly what you were searching for, a project to take on that would add value!"

"Huh? Oh, no, Lee, I don't think—"

"Why not? Like I said, you're a natural with aeronautical engineering. Tyrol can lend his expertise in mechanics, when you need it. This is a huge undertaking and we need this battlestar, Kara. I'm sure of it. Losing Galactica was a significant blow, not just psychologically, but physically, in our ability to adequately defend the fleet. We've got to try and better our odds. I'm also convinced it would be a tremendous morale booster for all of the Colonials, if we could make this idea a reality."

Kara pursed her lips, her teeth worrying the lower ridge. "Lee, I appreciate the vote of confidence—I really do. But I need to make physical therapy my first priority—I want to get back in my bird."

Lee sat cross-legged, grasping Kara's hands in his own. "I believe, with my whole heart, Kara Thrace, you'll fly again. And we both have to make physical therapy a priority; I'm not ready to give up that adrenaline rush either."

"Did they discover new crystal balls while I was away? 'Cause you sound a lot more positive about this than the facts warrant."

"When I didn't think I'd make it back into the cockpit, after Eos, Tom—Lightening—was a gods-send. He knew what to do; every exercise, every trick. It wasn't easy, and it took longer than I wanted, but he laid out the rehab plan and it worked. If could come back from that, Kara—as messed up as my shoulder and my arm had been, not to mention where my head was at in those days—I have complete faith you'll be able to make it back now. You have more drive and fighting spirit than I ever did."

Kara cursed as her eyes filled up with tears. "You sure know how to charm a girl," she managed to say, laughing remorsefully.

"I need you to hear this too, though. You can work on rehab and still start on the plans for this new ship. It'll give you something to focus on in the other hours—there's no way to rehab every hour of every day—and it'll serve as a built-in back-up plan, to put your mind at ease about what the future looks like if you aren't the CAG right away."

"This still doesn't get you off the hook, Adama," Kara said, snuffling. "I don't like this Presidency idea. I need you, godsdamnit, and I don't say that with pleasure." She looked at him, catching his intense gaze.

"No, I don't suppose you do," Lee countered, chuckling again. "But that's okay, Thrace, I promise I won't let on that I know."

"Lee, I saw what that crowd was like when you came back from the insurgent ship. I watched what happened to Roslin over time. Everyone else will want a piece of you, and that changes a person. No matter how much you want to, you won't be able to be present, emotionally, for the off-hour things. I'll resent that, and I can't—"

Interrupting her, Lee firmly pushed Kara on her back, kissing her deeply until she was completely enthralled.

"I_ will be there for you_, Kara Thrace. I'm not your father, or your mom, or Zak. We've made it through the literal end of the worlds and found our way back to each other; I will not surrender to anything or anyone who might try to come between us. If I am actually elected as President—and there's no crystal ball saying I will—we'll talk about how it's affecting our lives. You come to me and tell me it's become too much, I'll quit."

Kara examined his features, staring into his eyes for a long moment. "You mean that?"

"Yes, I mean that. Don't underestimate my love for your, Kara, not any more." He fell to her lips again with a renewed passion.

She reached up to caress his cheeks as he finally pulled away. "I can't tell you I'll be comfortable with you running, Lee. But I'll root for you, if this is what you want, and I'll hold you to your promise. 'Cause I finally have this chance with the…the _love of my life_ too."

**Sit Rep: Admiral's Private Quarters, Pegasus, Twelve Weeks After New Caprica Rescue**

Rushing to his father's living quarters, Lee tried to quell his irritation. He hated command appearances, and it had been made clear to him he was expected to be present this evening. The Admiral hadn't explained what the meeting was for; Lee assumed it had something to do with the election plans or a new set of military strategies. It could be related to the development of the enhanced FTL drives, but Lee thought it was too soon for Caprica and Boomer to have made any progress in that regard. Whatever it was, Lee thought, it could've waited to be handled in duty hours.

Stepping into the main area, he was surprised to see Karl and Sharon, Tyrol, Sam Anders and Tory Foster, and Kara standing there—he didn't realize this was meant to be such a large production, and the mix of people seemed a bit strange. Moments later, Dr. Cottle, Tigh, and Ellen walked in too. Then Dualla and Major Parker showed up. Nonplussed, Lee walked over to Kara, who was conversing with Karl and Sharon.

"What's this about?" He asked them, under his breath. "This isn't the usual group for a strategy session."

"We're not sure either," Helo offered, his forehead creased in puzzlement. There was a collective intake of breath as a path cleared between the people milling around and a priestess, in full regalia, made her way to the far wall in the area.

"Brothers and Sisters, you've been brought here to witness a special ceremony—the union of Admiral William Adama and Laura Roslin. Would Lee Adama, Kara Thrace, and Sam Anders come up here?"

Lee felt frozen in place, unable to quite comprehend what was happening yet. Helo had to push him gently to get him to move.

"Lee, as William's son, you're asked to stand beside him and present the first ring, which I give to you now." She carefully placed a simple band into his hand.

"Kara, you've been asked to stand with Laura and present the other ring." She repeated the same movements she had with Lee.

"Finally, Sam, the couple would be honored if you'd be responsible for presenting the bride to the groom." All eyes turned to the man, who blushed, shocked he had been chosen for this role.

"If I can ask the others in attendance to step back, to give room to the couple," the priestess continued, as people shuffled positions and Roslin and the elder Adama emerged from the bedroom. Laura was wearing the warmly-hued plum dress Lee could vaguely remember seeing before at the Groundbreaking Ceremony on New Caprica; Bill was in his full formal ceremonies uniform.

Smiling, the priestess gestured for Lee, Kara, and Sam to get into place, pointing out the right locations. As the Admiral approached his son, face actually beaming, Lee couldn't help but grin widely in return. "I hope you don't mind the surprise, Son," Bill whispered as he hugged his Lee quickly. "I wanted to tell you, but Laura thought we could keep it simpler if we didn't say anything to anyone beforehand."

"I understand, Dad. I'm happy for you." Lee realized, as the words left his mouth, he truly was very pleased; to the extent Lee felt he understood his father, he really believed the love with Roslin was built on a strong foundation of trust and respect. Unlike the marriage with Lee's mother, these two people had the experience and the commitment to make it last.

As Laura came close and Kara positioned herself, Lee was struck by how pale Roslin looked. The color of the dress brought out the beauty of her complexion and hair, but something in her eyes said she was weary and a little shaky on her feet. It was probably just nerves, he reasoned, but his stomach flipped and he couldn't escape the sensation something else was going on there. Roslin's face, though, was radiating joy; she was definitely in love with the man she was marrying.

Sam, having escorted Roslin to the center spot and already stepped back, reflected on the honor he'd been given, still trying to figure out why they'd chosen him. Tigh seemed a more likely person for the role, especially given his long relationship with the Admiral. Sam felt close to William Adama, getting knowing the man authentically through all of those months of the Resistance. He'd always thought, deep down, though, the elder Adama was kind to Sam primarily because of his marriage to Kara. Now, it was dawning on him, maybe the Admiral and Roslin saw him as his own person.

Reciting the simple words of the ceremony, the priestess invoked the power of the gods to sustain this union, holding these people in loving regard. The rings exchanged, the vows repeated, and the ritual complete, Bill kissed his wife tenderly, to the applause of those in attendance.

A short period later several people arrived carrying in food. There was nothing fancy to offer, but it was enough to share a meal together and enjoy the last two bottles of high-quality ambrosia that had remained from the original tenant's command. Music was playing through the speakers, adding to the mood of celebration.

It didn't escape Kara's notice that Sam and Tory were spending most of this time together; they whispered in each other's ears and exchanged glances that seemed tinged with sexual attraction. She experienced a twinge of jealousy, before acknowledging that it was none of her business any more. Sam had every right to be happy with someone. What gnawed at the back of her mind, though, more darkly, was the question of _when_ Sam and Tory had become close.

The woman certainly hadn't hung out with them on New Caprica before Kara was captured by Leoben; that meant they must've developed some kind of friendship during the months of the Resistance. A sharp anger surged in Kara's chest when she touched on that idea—while she was imprisoned and being tortured by that psycho frak, Sam was free, making friends and still living some kind of life.

He'd obviously become close to the Old Man too, another sore point for Kara; Bill Adama wasn't supposed to have any other surrogate "children". Kara wanted to be mature and graceful about the fact Sam had been developing his own life, but she felt flushed with rage as the thoughts kept building: her broken bones and constant fights to the death with the Cylon, juxtaposed with imagined scenes of Sam laughing and joining in with the key leaders, a group that had apparently included people like Tyrol and Tory.

In another second, her mind shifted to an even darker thought: what if Lee had carried on a relationship with someone else while she was in that horrible and frightening place? She tried to push the suggestion out of her head, to apply reason, but it was impossible. The heaving of forceful emotions brought tears to the back of her throat; she was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get some space, and frantically worked the hatch to get out of the room.

Lee didn't see Kara leave; he was lost in his own musings. He wondered how Tigh was feeling since Sam and Lee were asked to be a part of the events while his father's best friend stood to the side. Something about the involvement of Anders pissed off Lee to no end; he knew it was irrational and immature, not to mention out of place on what should be a joyous occasion, but he just felt like Sam was always in his way.

Maybe "surrogate son" was somewhat less painful than "Kara's husband," given the givens, but it was unbelievably disturbing to Lee all the same. He wanted the man to disappear, to stop showing up in Lee's life, and it just wasn't happening! Apparently, the gods had some purpose in mind for San Anders, and Lee was going to have to swallow that.

It was also obvious, at least to Lee, that Ana was doing fine without him. It'd never occurred to him she might be interested Major Parker, but as he tried to work out why the two would turn up together, that was the natural conclusion. Lee had been studying their interactions off and on over the evening, and he wasn't sure if they were romantically involved yet. It seemed like a matter of time, though, the way Parker catered to Ana and she flirted with him—Lee certainly recognized Ana's body language, since she'd used the same tactics with him.

He wasn't jealous, exactly—he knew he wasn't in love with Dualla—but there was something about the finality of it all. Lee had been so proud of himself, asking Dualla to take on a new role with FutureWork that would be important for the fleet; he'd been under the ego-inflating illusion he was rectifying wrongs and building Dee up. It was suddenly clear that she didn't really need Lee Adama to do anything for her, and he was only making himself feel important. That realization hit him in the gut with embarrassment; despite his efforts to maintain a more humble mindset, he'd fallen into arrogance again.

And then, there was the meaning of the evening itself. His father was now re-married. Lee didn't know why he felt so bewildered; gods, William Adama had been single for decades and Lee's mother, Carolyanne, had perished in the Second Cylon War. Despite that knowledge, it seemed sudden and rash, words Lee didn't normally associate with his dad.

Part of the problem, Lee could see, was the timing in relation to the revelation of their romantic involvement; even though the Admiral was clearly carrying on something with Roslin before the Cylon occupation of New Caprica, Lee hadn't known about it until the conclusion of the Rescue, an event that'd only taken place three months ago. In Lee's mind, the two had been a couple for all of twelve weeks. It wasn't reality—he had to absorb the facts—but he just couldn't quite embrace the full truth or the implications of what had happened tonight.

Most of all, though, Lee was grappling with the urgency, the push to take the same actions himself. He knew he wanted to marry Kara, and her recent slip in using the word "wife" gave him hope that maybe he could convince her to take that step.

Oddly, despite her engagement to Zak and her marriage to Sam, Lee had never been sure Kara was really the kind of person who'd "walk down the isle." The presence of that damnable tatto, in Lee's mind, was a sign Kara had been tremendously uncomfortable with the whole concept—her way of taking on her fears and forcing herself to confront the uneasiness every frakking day. Even before that, when Kara had been his brother's fiancée, she'd only reluctantly agreed to wear a ring, and that had been on her thumb.

Of course, it was possible this was all simply a matter of Lee's rationalizations for behaviors he found too painful to accept, like Kara choosing Zak or her willingly enduring pain for hours to get that frakking large tattoo. Meanwhile, he'd lacked the courage to ever discuss the future with her.

On some level, Lee understood it was too soon to approach Kara about something as permanent as marriage. They both needed to legally dissolve their previous commitments, and they'd only recently begun an actual relationship, in the sense of spending significant amounts of time together and having real conversations about events of the past.

They'd barely initiated the steps towards making joint decisions about their future, a brand new experience for them. Unlike William Adama and Roslin, or even Lee with Dee, Sam with Kara—Lee Adama and Kara Thrace had a complicated history to resolve. Maybe even a divine wound to heal, if the words of Pythia were to be believed.

As much as Lee wanted to announce to the world, definitively, that he and Kara were joined for life, he was going to need more patience. He clenched his jaw at that insight, rapidly wishing he could get very drunk and dampen the deep restlessness still sitting in his chest.

At that point, coming out of his self-absorption, Apollo looked around. The event was winding down, with only Helo, Sharon, Tigh, and Ellen still present, talking to the newlyweds. Kara wasn't there, a fact that immediately alarmed him. Lee stepped inside the bedroom, checking the head; no one was there. He approached Helo, stepping close to discreetly ask him if Kara had said anything before leaving. Karl shook his head, and immediately saw the worry in his friend's features.

"Lee, I'm sure she's fine—you know how Starbuck can be. She never had a long tolerance for social events. I'll bet Kara went for a walk and'll be back in a few minutes."

Apollo nodded absently in response, uneasy. For some reason, he felt afraid—he wanted to lay eyes on her, now.

As the hatch opened and Kara re-entered the Admiral's quarters, Lee let out the breath he'd been holding without realizing it. He briskly stepped towards her, quickly grabbing her hand to pull her away from the others.

"Where's the fire, flyboy?"

She pushed the statement out sarcastically, annoyed by the look on Lee's face and irritated at being handled' as she came back into the room. Kara had always hated lovers who hovered over her, and she was already out of sorts, despite the stroll to clear her head.

Immediately dropping Kara's hand at those words, Lee stammered an excuse. He knew well how touchy Starbuck could be when it came to PDAs or behaviors she interpreted as clingy. He could also feel the edgy energy radiating from her.

"No fires, Starbuck. Let me know when you're ready to go." He stepped back, masking his thoughts as he headed over to where Tigh and his father were conversing.

Kara winced, watching Lee walk away. She'd been sharper than she needed to be, and Apollo always shut down when he thought she might unleash her temper. Regretting her first reaction, she promised herself she wouldn't dwell on her painful, irrational fears.

Lee Adama loved her and he'd rescued her from Leoben, at great risk. Sam may have formed attachments to other people while Kara was trapped with that evil Cylon, but Lee had focused solely on the Rescue, on getting her back. He was stronger than Sam, and she could wholly believe in him, trust him.

Quietly signaling to Lee she wanted to go back to their own quarters, Kara made up her mind to show him again how much she appreciated their new beginning.


End file.
